


The Many Faced God Must Have His Due

by madaboutasoiaf



Series: Finding Arya [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post - A Dance With Dragons, R plus L equals J, Sexual Content, some violence, true to grrm's style I kill characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 114
Words: 351,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madaboutasoiaf/pseuds/madaboutasoiaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya Stark has finally returned to Westeros. She has a mission but things do not go to plan and Arya must face her past and decide what is really important: justice, duty, honour... and all the while winter is coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Arya has aged three years from the end of ADWD (GRRM writes her as older than she is so I'm making her a bit older). Daenerys is still in Essos but she will appear later in the fic. It is an AU, the three year jump is a mix of ageing up and some progression of events. The Boltons are still in Winterfell and Stannis is still in the snow waiting to attack. Jeyne Poole has made her escape from Ramsay. The Tyrell/Lannister alliance is still holding together (barely) and they are now aware of the threat from the Stormlands. It is an adjustment of the timeline of sorts. Think of most things as being as they were at the end of ADWD with only Arya’s arc progressing and Aegon having a bigger foothold in Westeros. In this story Aegon really is Aegon  
> I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire. GRRM is master of the universe, I could not come close

Chapter 1

 

No one watched without being seen, having taken the place of one of the serving girls. She had used a glamour and her face was plain, all the better to not be noticed. A battle had been successfully fought and the men were in high spirits. She took no notice of most of them. Her target sat on the dais, arguing quietly with the man sitting next to him. No one moved closer as she continued pouring wine, repressing the urge to sink her finger knife into the neck of the soldier who had just groped her arse.

 

“You took a great risk your Grace,” Lord Jon Connington was saying, the displeasure plain in his features. “If you act so recklessly you will not live long enough to take the throne.”

 

“I cannot expect men to fight for me if I am not willing to fight myself,” the young man next to him replied. “I’ll hear no more of this. The men want to celebrate their victory and these arguments will dampen spirits.”

 

The look Connington gave the young man was a mix of frustration and reluctant approval and No one did not miss it. No one did not miss anything anymore. She continued to watch discreetly as she served, being careful not to get close enough to be pulled into anybody’s lap. The other serving girls had not been quite so lucky but No one was good at anticipating and sidestepping their advances.

 

Her target japed and laughed with the men on the dais, his violet eyes glinting with amusement. No one was disappointed that he didn’t look more like Joffrey. That would have made things very easy. She was even more disappointed that he wasn’t behaving as Joffrey had though there was still time yet. No one had only just begun her mission. She would need to watch for her opportunity. She would not get close enough tonight. She would need to bide her time and observe. That was how these things were done.

 

She had arrived at Storm’s End a week earlier. Her time had been spent learning all she could of Aegon Targaryen and the men around him. He had been away fighting but the time was not wasted. What she had learned had been useful. She now knew where she might find him in the castle, what his habits were and how he might be vulnerable. It had not however helped make it easier to kill him.

 

No one knew she wasn’t supposed to judge whether men were good or bad. The Kindly man had said so back when she had been given her very first name. She had still fallen into the habit of looking for a motive, a reason why the gift should be given. This time she could not find one and it bothered her.

 

She watched closely over the next few days. One day she posed as a camp follower while he visited men in their tents (she chose the most unattractive face she could think of so as to avoid having to actually fuck anybody), the next she posed as a maid and the day after that a servant in the set of chambers where he and his inner circle resided. Her task did not get easier, instead it got harder.

 

Her target was well liked, he was not pretentious as she had expected and he treated people well. She had learned that he was hoping to arrange a betrothal with his aunt, Daenarys Targaryen though that hadn’t stopped hopeful lords from bringing their daughters to the castle. Some remained still and His Grace was charming and polite but as far as No one could tell there had been no incidents of dishonourable behaviour. The girls reminded No one a little of Sansa and No one felt sad.

 

His Grace did snap at one of the squires when they temporarily misplaced his sword. No one didn’t blame him for that. It was a special sword too. She had seen it earlier. It was valyrian steel and it brought to mind memories of Ice which she promptly pushed out of her mind. The squire was pretty stupid and she thought with a pang of her own sword, her Needle, hidden with her belongings. If somebody had misplaced Needle she would have snapped too. The sword was promptly recovered and all calmed down.

 

The lack of a reason to kill him wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that No one felt herself _liking_ her target. She was drawn to him. Something about his smile and his laugh reminded her of Jon Snow, her brother. _Stupid, No one has no brother_ she told herself but that didn’t change things. She sank down into the furs she was sleeping in feeling very weary. The need to use a glamour every time she wanted to change her face was tiring her.

 

The Kindly Man had insisted she wear her own face for this mission. She protested but he was not swayed. He had taken a firm grip of her chin, tilting her face up to look into her eyes. “This face will serve.” There was something that bothered her in the way he said it. She couldn’t put her finger on it. She had gathered the clothes she expected to need and items to help disguise herself. As she had made to leave for the ship which would take her to Westeros, the Kindly man had stopped her again.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“No one,” she replied.

 

She had stopped quickly to retrieve Needle and boarded the ship which had taken her to Shipbreaker bay. Fortunately it wasn’t difficult from then on to blend in with others on their way to pledge fealty to the young man who made claims to be the rightful King.

 

More days passed and No one began to see opportunities pass. She knew she was to kill him and only him so in the beginning the limited access to his food and wine restricted her. After another week she had missed at least a dozen opportunities to poison him and still more chances to stab him in his sleep. His chambers were well guarded but No one found ways around that. She stood watching him sleep one night and cursed herself the next morning for failing.

 

 _Tomorrow_ she told herself each night but when tomorrow arrived she still held back. By the time a moon had passed she was confronted by a man with shaggy brown hair and a large mole above his lip.

 

“The many-faced god will be displeased. There are others waiting to receive the gift. Why do you delay?”

 

No one hesitated. They would know if she was lying.

 

“Why was he chosen?”

 

The face in front of her showed no flicker of emotion. “That is not your concern. Valar dohaeris. He must be given the gift.”

 

No one thought for a moment. Aegon was not a bad person, she had seen that. Why was he chosen while people like Cersei and Ramsay Bolton still lived? The answer came to her suddenly. _Nobody offered gold to the House of Black and White to have Cersei and Ramsay killed_. She began to feel incredibly stupid. This, being faceless, had nothing to do with serving the many-faced god. The gods had nothing to do with it no matter what the servants of the House of Black and White were told.

 

“I won’t do it.”

 

The man shook his head sadly. “Disappointing. Another will be sent. A name has been said, the gift must be given.” He turned his back to walk away. “Goodbye Arya of House Stark.”

 

No one knew what this meant. She no longer served the House of Black and White. She had clung to it for so long that she thought she might have been sad. Instead she realised she felt free. They had given her the tools she needed, she could now wield them as she wished.

 

“Wait,” she called out.

 

He turned back to face her and she caught up to him quickly. “They can’t send somebody else. He doesn’t deserve to die.”

 

“Valar morghulis,” was the response.

 

 _Yes_ , she thought as she slit the man’s throat with her finger knife, hidden inside her sleeve. _All men must die but it isn’t Aegon’s turn yet_. Arya had many more names to give the many-faced god first. A whole list of them.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

Arya woke with the taste of blood in her mouth. It had been a long time since she had dreamt a wolf dream. She felt as though it was a sign. She had made the right choice. She was a wolf, not a sheep. She would not follow their orders any more. She was torn though. She knew the House of Black and White would send another after Aegon. They might even pursue her though she could take care of herself. Aegon though... Killing the messenger hadn’t prevented it, it would merely delay them. She wanted to work on her list but if she left then Aegon would be doomed.

 

She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He had let his silver blond hair grow and Duck was teasing him about being pretty. Duck smiled at her as she came close with the wine. She was posing as a serving girl again and had managed to get pouring duty at dinner. The face she wore now was a pretty one. She had hoped it would help her get closer and so far it seemed to be working.

 

“What do you think girl?” Duck asked.

 

Arya kept herself composed. Aegon was grinning and looking directly at her. She quickly japed back.

  
“If he keeps growing it His Grace will have better hair than mine.”

 

Laughter roared and Arya moved along to pour wine into Aegon’s cup. A hand blocked her and her eyes met a set of pale blue ones full of disapproval.

 

“His Grace needs his wits about him. No wine.”

 

 _Smart man_ Arya thought. She gave her best gracious nod and kept moving despite Aegon’s protests. Jon Connington was going to make things both easier and harder for Arya. He was distrustful and suspicious of almost everybody. He seemed in a permanent bad humour. He was the one person who had questioned her presence. It consoled her a little that he was keeping such a close watch but it still wouldn’t be enough to stop the next assassin. It was however enough to restrict her getting as close as she would like.

 

She watched Lord Connington a moment. She had figured out his secret. It didn’t take much. He never went without his gloves and she had fetched him “the worst wine” on more than one occasion now. She knew he wasn’t drinking it. He was too sober. She had also spotted something else curious. The septa wasn’t a septa, not a true septa anyhow. She didn’t know what the real story was there but it didn’t concern her.

 

As the days passed Arya crept around quiet as a shadow at night. It wasn’t hard to hear things. She knew what was going on in Kings Landing and much of the rest of Westeros. She knew what battles were being planned and who was considered an ally or a foe. It was encouraging to learn that many of Aegon’s foes were hers as well. One of her most useful habits was to hover near the halfmaesters room and overhear conversations about the contents of messages. On this particular night Connington was with the halfmaester and Arya knew she would hear nothing. He was too careful. There were no open doors when the Hand was having his secret conversations.

 

Arya slipped into the kitchens instead. She had managed to become a fixture and nobody took any notice. When it was said that His Grace wanted fruit and cheese nobody cared when Arya took it. She was puzzled to find nobody guarding the door to his chambers until she opened it and found Duck in the solar playing some sort of game with Aegon. The supposed septa was seated watching them. She set the food down murmuring about having brought what was requested but they were so deep in concentration that only the septa acknowledged her.

 

Arya made to walk away then couldn’t help herself. “What game is that?” she blurted.

 

They looked up at her and she silently cursed herself. _Stupid, drawing attention_. She mumbled an apology and began to retreat until Aegon spoke.

 

“It’s called Cyvasse.”

 

She stopped and watched a moment, curious. “Who’s winning?”

 

Aegon’s smile was blinding. “I am.”

 

“Only because I let you,” Duck grumbled.

 

Arya couldn’t help but laugh. The game ended on cue and Arya was beyond startled when she was spoken to again. “Do you want to play?”

 

She struggled with herself. Despite her years of learning to train her face she must have shown something because Duck vacated his seat. She sat opposite Aegon and listened as they explained the rules. She was beaten soundly the first two games but she learned a lot. She didn’t just learn the rules, she watched Aegon’s face and that taught her far more. She began to anticipate some of his moves and the third game was a little closer.

 

“You’re getting better,” Aegon said, smiling.

 

“Thank you your Grace,” she replied.

 

“What is your name?” he asked.

 

The lie rolled easily off her tongue. “Cat.”

 

He set up the board once more and Arya was acutely aware they were now alone. “You are very trusting your Grace,” she observed.

 

Aegon’s head jerked up and his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

 

“You don’t really know me,” she said, keeping her voice level.

 

Aegon laughed. “Are you going to kill me?”

 

Arya forced a smile she didn’t feel. He was completely clueless. “No, your Grace.”

 

He cocked his head to the side. “Do you want me to send you away?”

 

Arya answered a little quicker than she should have. “No.” His smile widened and she cursed herself again. She felt herself blush. _Gods, he is going to think I like him._

 

“Stupid,” she retorted. “Don’t look at me like that.”

 

His smile grew even wider. “You call me stupid?”

 

“I apologise Your Grace,” Arya said unconvincingly.

 

“Don’t, you’re more interesting when you insult me. Besides Duck is just outside, I’m sure I’m safe enough.”

 

Arya was trying to figure out how to correct him when she realised his gaze had intensified. She felt the urge to squirm as he looked at her far closer than she would have liked. “Your eyes are an interesting shade of grey.”

 

She leapt to her feet knocking the cyvasse pieces to the floor in the process. “I must go your Grace,” she muttered, whirling around and ignoring his astonished expression. As she fled to the door she heard him call after her.

 

“Did I do something wrong?”

 

She threw a quick “No,” over her shoulder and pushed through the door and past Duck. She slowed her paces and tried to calm her breathing. _My eyes were meant to be brown, not grey_. She made her way through the passages and found her quarters. A looking glass was sitting on a nearby table. She picked it up.

 

The Kindly man had wanted her to show her true face to Aegon but she had resisted. As she looked into the mirror Aegon’s words were confirmed. The glamour had slipped. It wasn’t completely her face but he had seen far more than he was meant to, far more than she intended. She slammed the mirror down, breaking it in the process.

 

_What am I doing?_

Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My theory on the use of the different faces is something of my own invention based on the bit in the chapter in ADWD from Melisandre’s POV of the toll it took to keep up the charade with Mance and Rattleshirt in the books. In this fic I’m assuming it is harder for Arya, especially if she doesn’t fully focus on it

Chapter 3

 

Arya was torn between now wanting to avoid Aegon and needing to watch for threats. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved when he requested for her to attend his room almost every second night after dinner. The other serving girls were gossiping about her, she knew. When she was questioned she told them the truth.

 

“We play cyvasse.”

 

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” the cook japed.

 

Arya ignored them. She had more important things to worry about. She had tried to act as if she hadn’t fled Aegon’s solar and he had moved on and returned to good humoured japing with her. He seemed to enjoy arguing with her. It was good thing too because she needed to focus on something other than trying to explain her behaviour to him. Her replacement had arrived.

 

Arya managed to pick him out. Connington was suspicious too she knew but he hadn’t seen the true danger. Arya “accidentally” spilled Aegon’s wine more than once. Thankfully he didn’t drink often. It earned her the wrath of the steward but luckily Duck had formed a soft spot for her and Aegon interceded. The steward’s wrath was preferable to Aegon drinking the poisoned wine.

 

She began to haunt Aegon’s chambers late at night too. Even though she kept to the shadows and stood still as a statue he almost caught her more than once when he woke but she knew that if she could gain access then the faceless man could too. It ended when she managed to confront the man in a shadowed alcove. The confrontation left her with a nasty cut on her arm but she had the best of it. The other man was dead but not before she found out why Aegon was a target.

 

There was a furore in the morning when the body was discovered. Arya had treated her wound the best she could but now knew she needed to take further action. She donned a different face, one she had used previously to serve and made sure she attended Connington. She handed him his wine. He tried to dismiss her but she didn’t leave. She was met with a withering look. She quickly put on a Braavosi accent.

 

“I know you have greyscale my Lord.”

 

Connington paled and she quickly interjected. “I don’t care. I’m not going to tell anybody. That is not why I’m here.”

 

“Why are you here? he asked abruptly.

 

Arya looked at him boldly. “To warn you. People want Aegon dead. The body found this morning was a faceless man.”

 

Connington leapt to his feet. “You,” he spat.

 

Arya was indignant. “ _Me?_ I have protected him.”

 

“Why?”

 

She sighed. “You are a smart man. It is for the same reason you want him on the throne. He would be a good king.” Connington looked like he was deciding whether to draw his sword or yell for aid. Arya fingered the dirk hidden in her hated serving dress.

 

“Who sent them?” he asked. “It must be the Lannisters.”

 

Arya hesitated before answering. Warning him was one thing, the teachings of the House of Black and White were secrets and she did not think they would like her speaking of it.

 

 _He knows anyway. He knows enough that it will make no matter._ She pushed the worry aside.

 

“Servants of the House of Black and White do not get told why but the man last night knew things,” she admitted. “It was not the Lannisters. It was somebody who wants Daenerys on the throne.”

 

Connington frowned. “Aegon isn’t a threat to that. They would marry-“

 

Arya interjected. “It is believed she will not have him. There is talk of a prophecy.”

 

Connington stared at her for a long time. “I cannot let you go.”

 

Arya grinned wolfishly. “Try and stop me.”

 

Connington made his move but Arya was too quick. She heard him sounding the alarm behind her but by that point she had shed the garb she was wearing and changed her face. This was not the day she would get caught.

 

She kept her distance and focused on minding her duties for the next couple of days. There was talk of the men marching for battle so Aegon was closeted in plenty of war councils. When he wasn’t surrounded by the lords, he was arguing with Connington. The next time she saw him he looked tired. He looked up and smiled when she brought in the jug of water he had requested.

 

“My favourite serving girl.”

 

Arya stopped still and tried to figure out what he meant by it. He shook his head. “Don’t get prickly. I’m too tired to argue. I’ve had enough arguing already today.”

 

“I heard,” she blurted without thinking.

 

Aegon smiled again, a sad smile this time. “He doesn’t understand. I need to do this.”

 

Arya hesitated a moment then sat. She recalled something she had heard her father say. “A man who leads has to set the example. He cannot expect his men to do something he is not willing to do himself.” Something about it was familiar and she realised Aegon had said something similar the night he last returned from battle.

 

Aegon sighed. “Exactly.” He reached out and set up the pieces on the cyvasse board. It was beginning to become a routine. “You still haven’t beaten me yet.”

 

“Perhaps I’m following Duck’s lead. It might bruise your Grace’s ego too much to lose to a girl.”

 

Aegon laughed. Arya decided she would really try this time. She hadn’t been playing to win before, just using the game for other purposes. They were well into it when she realised she was chewing her lip as she tried to think. Years of punishing herself for it caused her to smack herself out of habit. Aegon looked astonished.

 

“What was that about?”

 

Arya tried to think then opted for an explanation close to the truth. “I’m trying to break a habit.” She was stunned when Aegon reached out and ran a finger along her cheek.

 

“You’ve left a mark on that pretty face.”

 

The face she wore was now too close to her own for her to jape back. The glamour had slipped a little further. Aegon had noticed but didn’t seem to realise the significance of it. The others she saw on a daily basis didn’t seem to notice or care. The years of teasing came back to her... _Arya horseface_. “I know I’m not pretty,” she snapped. “My sister is pretty.”

 

Aegon pulled his hand back and looked confused. “Your sister?” he said questioningly.

 

Arya knew she had said too much. She leapt to her feet and fled, feeling tears sting her eyes. She blinked them away. _He shouldn’t tease me..._ She heard him calling after her to come back but she ignored him. She ran and climbed under her furs in her sleeping quarters she shared with the other girls hoping nobody would look for her.

 

 _Please let me have my wolf dreams tonight_ she thought as she finally began to drift off to sleep.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

Arya tried to keep away from Aegon the next day. She was angry and embarrassed. It wasn’t until the afternoon that she heard anything of him. She passed his chambers and when Duck saw her he looked strained. He gave her a weak smile and she realised there was shouting coming from inside.

 

“Are you fucking her?”

 

It was Connington’s voice. Arya knew she wasn’t meant to be hearing whatever this was and Duck looked even more pained.

 

“So what if I am?”

 

Aegon’s voice this time. He sounded angry. Arya raised an eyebrow and grinned. Duck didn’t return the expression. She soon found out why.

 

“She’s a serving girl.”

 

Arya felt her face turn crimson. They were talking about _her_. Duck retreated into the chambers and Arya fled around the corner trying to get away from the voices. She put her fingers to her temples trying to will herself to forget what she had heard. She didn’t get long.

 

“You,” a voice barked.

 

It was Connington. He looked livid. “Come with me.”

 

Arya wanted to argue but thought better of it. Connington wasn’t likely to tolerate it. She put on her best meek expression, uttered a “Yes my lord,” and followed him to his solar.

 

“I’m not,” she said weakly when they were both inside.

 

“You’re not what?”

 

Arya straightened her posture and looked him in the eye. “I’m not fucking him.”

 

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “His Grace was at pains to clarify after he found out you were outside. Do you know why I called you in here?”

 

Arya shook her head.

 

Connington sighed. “Aegon wants you to come with us when we march tomorrow. Apparently everybody else simpers and says what they think he wants to hear.”

 

Arya fought the urge to smile.

 

“War is no place for a woman.”

 

Arya didn’t know whether to laugh at him or bite his head off. Instead she did neither.

 

“You are too low born to be his companion.”

 

The urge to laugh was winning out. She stifled it with difficulty and chose her words carefully. She repressed the urge to correct him about her birth.

 

“I understand your concerns my lord.”

 

Connington looked at her like she was a cockroach. “My concerns apparently do not matter. His Grace will have you come. You will stay in the camps.”

 

Arya had no objection. “Yes my lord.”

 

Connington inspected her. “There is something familiar about you. Have we met before here?”

 

Arya shook her head but felt a nagging worry. She couldn’t change her face again. It would mean starting over. She waited for him to say something further but he dismissed her. She was grateful to get out of there.

 

***

It was wonderful to be on a horse again. Arya had donned breeches and ignored the stares she received. She was having too good a time. The march was a slow affair. Aegon had called his banners and between that and a contingent of sellswords from the Golden Company there was a large procession and hundreds of horses. Nobody took any real notice of Arya when she broke off from the group she was riding with to put her horse through its paces. As a woman she was deemed no threat. _Idiots_ she thought for the hundredth time.

 

Aegon had insisted she serve in his pavilion whenever they stopped at night. The first day they stopped he took one look at her and laughed.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman in breeches. They do seem to suit you.”

 

Arya immediately forgot the awkwardness of their last encounter and grinned a genuine grin. “If I had my way I’d wear them all the time. You men get it easy. Do you have any idea how hard it is to move fast in dresses? They are not comfortable.”

 

Connington did not appear to share Aegon’s amusement. He stared at her long and hard and there was something unpleasant in his expression.

 

She heard reports that the wolves were becoming a problem. She heard them at night when she wasn’t asleep dreaming about them. She woke each morning with the taste of blood in her mouth and remembered images that were so real of dying men wearing red and gold and green and gold, lions and roses. She could hear men everywhere talking about them.

 

“At least they aren’t taking too many of ours.”

 

“I hear that a huge monster of a she-wolf leads the pack.”

  
The night before the men were to march to meet the enemy the atmosphere was tense even though the men were keen for battle. Despite Connington’s disapproval Aegon insisted on having wine. She had just refilled his cup for a third time when Connington grabbed her wrist.

 

“Don’t give him any more.”

 

Arya shook her arm free trying not to bristle at him touching her. “That is his Grace’s decision, not yours my Lord.”

 

Aegon smiled a little too smugly and Connington stalked from the tent. When he was safely gone and they were alone Arya chided Aegon. “He is right you know.” Aegon simply shrugged and set up the board to play Cyvasse.

 

“I might die tomorrow,” he said in a blasé voice. “Wine would be the least of my worries.”

 

He was not wrong but Arya could see his worry beneath the bravado. “Don’t be stupid,” she retorted.

 

He simply smiled as he always did when she insulted him. “You are so rude to me.”

 

“My apologies,” Arya replied. “I should have said don’t be stupid _Your Grace.”_

 

Arya ignored his laughter and began to play. Aegon was never really overly inhibited but the wine had made him even more open than usual. She didn’t realise she was staring at him until he began to look at her intently, his violet eyes taking on a sudden brightness.

 

“Cat, what are you thinking when you look at me like that?”

 

Arya paused and took a greater interest in the Cyvasse board. She picked up her dragon and studied it. “Sometimes you remind me of somebody,” she mumbled.

 

“Who?” his tone was playful.

 

The image of Jon Snow popped into her head and she blurted it out. “My brother.”

 

Aegon’s reaction caught her off guard. He scowled and leapt to his feet. Arya didn’t know what to think as he began to pace, muttering something she couldn’t understand under his breath.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

He stopped and tugged at his hair. “I don’t want to remind you of your bloody _brother_.”

 

Arya leapt to her feet. “Why not?” she said indignantly. “He was always my favourite person.”

 

Aegon lunged towards her and Arya shifted into a defensive stance which was of absolutely no use. She did not know why she did not move. She was quick enough to evade him but instead she stood there, completely unprepared as his hands gripped her waist and his lips met hers. All thoughts of Jon Snow disappeared immediately. Aegon’s mouth was hot against hers and her arms seemed to wind around his neck so easily even though he was taller. Arya hadn’t been kissed before, not by somebody she liked anyways. The others did not count. The others were not _her_. She began to feel a warmth spread through her as his tongue touched hers and she could almost hear her heart thudding in her chest.

 

She had tried so hard to ignore how handsome he was. She had tried to ignore how much she liked it when he sought her company. That wasn’t what she was here for. She wasn’t like Sansa or those other lord’s daughters. She wanted to do something _important_ with her life. She gasped as he broke the kiss but before she could try to think he began to press kisses along her neck.

 

“Aegon,” she whispered.

 

He lifted his head and brushed his lips against hers again. “I like you saying my name Cat.”

 

The false name broke the spell and Arya extracted herself from his grasp. Aegon wasn't kissing Arya Stark. He was kissing Cat.

 

“We can’t do this.”

 

Disappointment marred his features. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. You’re just so different to the others.”

 

Arya would have laughed at the ridiculous understatement if she wasn’t feeling so raw.  “You don’t know me your Grace. You don’t know anything at all.”

 

He let her go but she could feel his eyes burning into her back as she retreated from his tent.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

She was spared from the awkwardness of figuring out how to act around Aegon by him leaving. Her head hurt from thinking about the night before. She still didn’t understand what had happened. _He had been drinking, it was the wine_ she told herself. _He didn’t really want you_.  _He doesn't even know who you really are._ She felt certain he would not want her if he did.

 

She wasn’t sure what she felt about him. She knew she didn’t hate him, she had been aware that she liked him as a person, as a friend ( _stupid_ , she thought, he’s going to be  _king_ ) but it frightened her that she had liked him kissing her. Her pack was gone, she was on her own and letting somebody else get under her skin like that, wanting somebody else was dangerous. They all eventually left.

 

She couldn’t relax with him gone. She stalked around, keeping close to the halfmaester. She was greedy for any information on the battle. She hoped Aegon wouldn’t be targeted while he was out of her reach. She was powerless to prevent anything and she cursed again over the injustice of the exclusions womanhood brought with it. She had been tempted to follow, particularly given they were fighting Lannister forces but she knew it was pointless. She would never get close in a battle, not in the way she needed to. Her presence would be a distraction.

 

Thankfully it wasn’t a long wait before she heard that the battle had been a success. Aegon’s forces had dealt a heavy blow to the Lannister/Tyrell armies though it worried her to hear that the losses were heavy on the Targaryen side too. There was no word on Aegon himself apart from hearing that they were on the return march.

 

The closeness of the Lannister soldiers made her think of her list. She had been forced to keep it in the back of her mind but it never went away. She was itching to cross off a name. She rested fitfully, running through the list again and again in her head, this time having a dreamless sleep though the wolves sounded closer. At one point they almost sounded as though they were in the camp. It was early morning when she was half awake, half asleep and heard a voice, a whisper.

 

_You have disappointed me. You were meant for this task. Didn’t you wonder why you were given the coin? Didn’t you wonder why you were chosen to serve?_

 

She sat bolt upright in the tent wondering if it had been a dream. Then she saw the shadowy figure leaving the tent. Her mind took a moment to clear then she panicked as she realised what it meant. She charged from the tent in the direction of Aegon’s pavilion. The shadowy figure was gone.

 

She could hear people stirring in the tents. Within an hour there was the sound of horses approaching. Arya strained to see but the sky was dark and wasn’t likely to lighten much during the day. A storm was coming and the clouds were thick in the sky. She paced and waited and saw the dragon banners come into focus. They were back.

 

Thunder rumbled in the distance as the men began to enter the camps drunk on victory. By the time the vanguard had finished trickling in and the main column arrived the thunder had become louder and the lightning was coming more often. Arya waited impatiently, worriedly outside the tent. A light rain began to fall. Haldon drew up alongside her.

 

“You’ll catch a chill Cat.”

 

She muttered that she would be fine and stayed where she was. She hadn’t forgotten the shadow and the whisper and she had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. She saw Duck first, his white cloak blowing in the wind. When he drew closer to the tent Aegon emerged behind him with Connington glued to his side. There were extra guards around them. She began to feel a sense of relief as Aegon dismounted and she could see he was unharmed. He began to walk towards the tent leading his horse and as he removed his helm she though he might be smiling.

 

Her relief was short lived as she saw the figure approaching him. He was quick but that didn’t surprise Arya. He had always been quick. She saw the way he was holding his hand and knew he had a weapon. Panic rose inside her. She was too far away still. She screamed to Aegon but the thunder drowned her out. She began to approach, all thought of disguising herself forgotten. She screamed again.

 

Connington had heard her but instead of moving to aid Aegon he was staring at _her_ as though she had two heads. Aegon was staring at her too. She saw the other guards spot the threat but before they could intercede Aegon’s horse began to act as though it was possessed. Arya felt her heart leap into her throat. _He_ had done it. She knew it. All attention was drawn to trying to stop the animal from trampling Aegon and she knew it was going to be too late. The assassin was almost on him.

 

The lightning flashed again and illuminated a monstrous animal approaching far faster than the men could move. A chaos of frightened shouting began and Arya’s senses went into overdrive. Her sight, hearing, all her senses were stronger from her training but this was different. This was _better._ She could _smell_ the fear of the men around her and in that instant she recognised the animal. It was Nymeria. She was bigger and she was wilder but it was her, Arya knew it.

 

The wolf saw her and then suddenly she was the wolf and she felt as though she had wings. Running on four legs she lunged, pulling the man down a fraction of a second before he could plunge his dagger into his victim. She saw the disbelief in his eyes. He mouthed her name, _Arya_ , before she tore his throat out. Then she fled through the chaos of men shouting, running back to the safety of her pack.

 

When Arya came back to herself she was dazed and she could still taste the blood. She was lying on the ground. She leapt to her feet unsteadily and ran towards Aegon. The guards had managed to get hold of his horse and the animal was settling down. Aegon was frozen looking at the body in front of him. Before she could reach him Connington grabbed her arm. His features were twisted in anger.

 

“What sort of trick is this?”

 

Arya tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let go. “I tried to warn you. I told you they would come for him.” She made to move towards Aegon. He was looking at her uncertainly.

 

“Cat,” he said hesitantly. “Who are you?”

 

Connington wrenched her arm. “Look girl. Stop playing games.”

 

Arya was beginning to lose her temper. “I’m not playing any games. Let go of me before I make you.” She glared at him.

 

“Why are you wearing that face,” he snarled. “Why are you wearing _her_ face.”

 

Arya suddenly realised what was going on. _Oh no_. She cursed. “This is _my_ face,” she retorted.

 

Connington let go of her like she had burnt him. “Who _are_ you? Why do you look like Lyanna Stark?”

 

Arya was so irritated she let out a rather undignified squeal of frustration. _Why are people so stupid_. “I don’t look like Lyanna Stark! Lyanna Stark was _beautiful_. I’m Arya Stark. Horsey looking Arya Stark.” She blinked back tears. “I _saved_ him,” she said, pointing at Aegon “and all you can do is interrogate me about my resemblance to my long dead Aunt.”

 

She turned on her heel and ran for the shelter of her tent. She waited to hear them follow her, certain they would try to stop her. They didn’t.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 

Arya was tense as she sat in her tent, trying to calm herself. She could hear unfamiliar voices at the entrance of her tent but they didn’t enter. She wasn’t quite sure why they were leaving her alone but she was grateful for small mercies. She crawled under her furs and tried to still her thoughts. She needed to process something, something which had bothered her from the time she had been set this mission.

 

The Kindly man had instructed her to use her own face. The assassin that day had said she was _meant for this task_. She couldn’t forget Connington’s expression, his anger and his questions about her connection to her aunt. She hadn’t been happy when she realised that she was killing for gold but she consoled herself that she had gotten plenty out of the bargain. The people she had killed in service to the House of Black and White were not good people and Arya's training had made her stronger, had made it so she could protect herself. She was furious now knowing they were using her all along.

 

She didn’t quite understand what it meant but she now knew there was something about her, something they wanted to exploit in connection with Aegon. Hours later when Duck came to her tent she was calm and she was ready. He looked nervous.

 

“Will you come with me m’lady?”

 

Arya sighed. “Of course Duck.” She stood and gave him a stern look. “Don’t call me my lady,” and was rewarded with a weak smile.

 

She stepped out of the tent and found guards at the entrance. They flanked her as she walked and she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Duck must have seen her expression.

 

“They were the compromise,” he explained. “I told them that you weren’t likely to run after sticking around all this time. We also guess you mustn’t want to harm the prince, the two of you spent so much time together but the Hand said you couldn’t be roaming freely around camp, especially after what happened with the wolf.”

 

Arya repressed the urge to tell him that the guards would be next to useless in stopping her and simply nodded. They passed Aegon’s tent and Arya looked back. Duck’s mouth set in a grim line.

 

“He did not take the news well.”

 

Arya tried to push away the guilt she felt at hearing it. They entered Connington’s tent. The Hand looked as though he had eaten something which didn’t agree with him. He looked at Arya with distaste and told her to sit. She flopped down into the chair gracelessly and crossed her ankles. Connington studied her.

 

“Wait outside Duck.”

 

Duck looked uncertain but he left. Connington paced for a minute then stopped.

 

“You will answer my questions.”

 

Arya felt her anger flare. She was not going to be ordered around. “I don't have to answer you if I don't want to.”

 

Connington’s mouth twisted and his pale blue eyes were cold and unfriendly. “You will not cooperate?”

 

Arya studied her nails for a moment. They were chipped and rough as always. “I didn’t say that. I just said I don't have to answer _you._ ”

 

Connington ground his teeth. “I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

 

Arya looked up and met his gaze. Her voice was small when she responded to him. “Is this about my Aunt and his father?” Connington didn’t answer but Arya didn’t need him to. The look on his face told her all she needed to know.

 

“I didn’t know,” she said finally. “The one they sent today, he came to me, whispered to me that I was specially chosen but I didn’t know. I didn’t know why?”

 

Connington grimaced. “You are her come again only worse. The scandal alone could finish his chances.”

 

Arya bristled at the insinuation. _He thinks Aegon will lose support because of me._ “I have no intention of telling anybody. Nobody needs to know. I just warned you. I could never have followed through. It doesn’t need to spread any further.”

 

Connington clenched his fist. “It won’t.” He began to pace again, darting unhappy glances at her. Arya cleared her throat.

 

“I will answer any questions I can but I want Aegon to be there.”

 

The look Connington gave her was pure venom but Arya stood firm. He tried to test her but she wouldn’t break. Finally she was escorted back to her tent. She was interested to note that the other servants had shifted out of the tent in her absence. She didn’t care. She settled down and slept.

The march back to Storm’s End began the next morning. Arya did not enjoy her ride on the return journey as she had on the original trip. She was surrounded by guards and she felt stifled. She fought the temptation to try and break free. She knew she was better on a horse than most of the men but she also knew it would cause trouble and she didn’t want to give Connington anything more to hold against her.

 

It was four days before she broke and snuck out of her tent at night. It wasn’t difficult to gain access to Aegon’s pavilion. She knew the layout well. She moved quiet as a mouse and she found him sleeping. She woke him gently and clapped a hand over his mouth, holding a finger to her lips. He nodded and she moved her hand. She half expected him to raise the alarm anyway and was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t.

 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted.

 

He frowned and ran his hand through his hair in an absentminded gesture. “I wanted to talk to you. Lord Connington said I should keep away.”

 

Arya snorted. “Since when do you do what he says?”

 

Aegon grinned and Arya felt a load lift but his grin soon faded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

She sighed. “I did try. I couldn’t very well blurt out the whole truth. How do you think you would have reacted if I had just come out with it? Oh your Grace, I was sent to kill you but I changed my mind because I’ve decided you are a decent person. Oh and I’m now watching your every move so that my replacements don’t finish the job I was sent to do.”

 

His eyes brightened. “You think I’m decent?”

 

She punched his arm lightly. “Don’t be stupid.”

 

He laughed. “Good to know it was only your face that wasn’t real.” He propped himself up on an elbow to look at her. "How do you do that? How do you change your face?"

 

Arya remembered once asking the same question, asking to be taught. The man who called himself Jaqen had teased her then given her the coin. Arya did not want to tease Aegon, not when he was talking to her even after she lied.

 

"Years of practice. Years of teaching."  _Years of denying who I was._  

 

Aegon was looking intently at her face as though he expected it to change again. Arya stuck out her tongue at him and he smiled, a short smile.

 

"You should have told me who you really were."

 

She averted her eyes. "I wanted to." She almost added  _I did not know if I could trust you_ but she knew that was not something he would take well. Trust no longer came easily to Arya but Aegon might not understand that. She trusted him more than she had trusted anybody in a long while but her name had been a secret for so long. She had been somebody else for years even if she was always Arya underneath it all. _  
_

 

Aegon went very quiet and Arya started to make her escape before his guards began to pick up on her presence. Before she could leave she heard him say in a sad voice “Did you only spend time with me out of duty?”

 

Arya sighed. “That depends.”

 

She could see his confusion in the candle light. “Depends on what?”

 

She grinned. “It depends on whether you’ll get a big head if the answer is no.”

 

She could still hear him quietly laughing as she ducked under the flap in retreat.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 

The next evening after they finished their march for the day she noticed the guard around her tent was doubled. Connington had obviously figured out she had gotten out. They even hovered inside the tent, watching her. As dinner approached she lost patience.

 

“I’m going to take a bath. A little privacy would be nice.”

 

They two keeping an eye on her looked at each other and to make her point Arya gathered the water. She stopped by the tub and gave them a pointed look. When she removed her boots and made a show of tossing the dagger she had hidden in the left one they turned their backs and stepped outside the flap. She made a show of getting in the water and splashing around then promptly jumped out, ripping clothes back on and escaping out under the bottom of the back of the tent with boots in hand.

 

The darkness and the cloak she wrapped around herself were enough to see her to Duck’s tent. He was beyond startled when he found her there, shivering a little from her damp clothes.

 

“I wasn’t planning to harm anybody here,” she grumbled “but if Connington continues to have guards crawling around my tent and watching my every move I swear I will crack and stick one of them with the pointy end.”

 

Duck looked outside and burst out laughing. “You’ve created a right panic. They are crawling all over the lad’s pavilion.”

 

Arya massaged her temples with her fingers. “Can I have dinner here?”

 

Duck studied her for a minute and she could see him weakening. He left and she wondered whether he was going to tell on her but when he returned he had food. Arya sat, feeling immensely grateful and wolfed down her share.

 

“I don’t know what you did but he’s been happier.”

 

Arya paused mid chew and looked at him. “I owed him answers.” She grabbed the skin of wine and poured herself a cup. When Duck gawked at it she frowned. “I’m going to need to be drunk when I return to the tent if I have to face them.”

 

She downed the cup but when she made to pour herself another Duck took the skin away ignoring her protests. He shook his head. “I’ll regret this but you can stay here a while.”

 

Arya hadn’t wanted to hug anybody in a long while but she wanted to hug him then. They chatted a little. Duck was careful to avoid the elephant in the room, refraining from asking any questions about the House of Black and White or her role serving them. She was sorry to see him go when he had to return to duty.

 

She had a couple more hours peace before she heard commotion outside the tent. A throng of people pushed through the entrance. Duck looked guilty, Connington was clearly livid and Aegon was with them looking immensely amused. Arya put on her best nonchalant expression as Connington burst through in front of the others.

 

“Is there a problem, my lord?”

 

Connington was almost shaking. “You know damn well there is a problem. You cannot be trusted.”

 

She sighed. “You wound me. Did something dreadful happen because I wasn’t watched like the naughty girl I am.” She heard Aegon snigger and even Duck gave a little laugh. Connington rounded on him.

 

“You are in no position to laugh. You are a member of the Kingsguard. Your support on this was needed.”

 

Arya felt a surge of irritation. “He didn’t neglect his duty. If anything it is you who is neglecting his duty.”

 

Connington’s expression was bordering on malevolent. “How so?”

 

Arya pointed in Aegon’s direction. “He needs protection and _you_ are depriving him of my help.”

 

Connington started to speak and was cut off by Aegon. “She’s right.” He motioned to Arya. “Come with us.”

 

Arya jumped to her feet and made to follow. Connington was blocking her and she gave him a pointed look. “The prince gave me an order.” He made way but he didn’t hide his unwillingness to do so. When she arrived at Aegon’s pavilion it was determined that she should stay in one of the partitioned off areas. She would be sharing with Septa Lemore. Before she could gather her things and settle in she was stopped again by Connington.

 

“You said you would answer questions.”

 

She looked in Aegon’s direction and nodded. She dropped into a seat. “Ask away.” Aegon sat opposite her and Connington began to pace. Duck positioned himself near the entrance but did not leave. Arya could see his curiosity. Aegon asked the first question.

 

“You say you are Arya Stark.”

 

“I _am_ Arya Stark.” she retorted.

 

Connington paused in his pacing. “Arya Stark married Ramsay Bolton. We heard word she ran from him.”

 

Arya snorted. “I heard that too. Some poor wretch might have married Ramsay Bolton but it wasn’t me. Even if they somehow dragged me through the wedding the Bolton bastard would not have survived the bedding. I would not have simply run. I would have killed him first.” She whipped out her finger knife and began to use it to clean under her nails. She heard a gasp and looked up. Aegon was watching her with a fascinated expression but Duck looked worried and Connington looked, well, disapproving... as usual.

 

“You came here armed.”

 

“I am always armed.” she shot back.

 

“Forgive me, my lady.” Aegon said curiously “How do we know that you are the real Arya Stark?”

 

Arya thought a moment. “My brother is at the Wall. He would know me.”

 

Aegon looked thoughtful. “If he the one you spoke of?”

 

Arya tried not to think too much on what had happened the last time she had spoken of Jon to Aegon. “Yes.” Her expression darkened. “The rest of my brothers are dead.”

 

“We don’t need the brother.” Lemore said softly. “There is the wolf.”

 

Nymeria had been spotted tracking them. Arya knew she was close. She could feel her presence. She had been too closely guarded to seek her out and she was hesitant now to bring her into camp. She knew too well that the men misliked the wolves.

 

“Yes.” Connington stared at Arya in a way she did not like. “The Starks and their direwolves. It would serve but I do not like the thought of the creature near Aegon.”

 

“Nymeria wouldn’t hurt him.” she said defensively, somehow knowing it was true. She smiled what she suspected was a wicked smile. “She is like me, we prefer to savage lions.”

 

For the first time since she had met him, Arya almost thought she saw Jon Connington smile.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

The last part of the march back was far more comfortable for Arya. She was given much more freedom and Lemore was quite tolerable to share quarters with, even when those quarters were only a partitioned area of a pavilion. Arya had experienced much worse. It was also far easier to look out for threats being near Aegon. She made some suggestions to improve his protection and was pleased to see them be promptly adopted. She reserved her remaining suggestions for when they returned to Storm’s End.

 

On the last night of the march Aegon cleared his throat after dinner and began to look awkward.

 

“Spit it out, your Grace,” Arya ordered.

 

“Lord Connington has been quite critical,” he said slowly.

 

Arya was dismissive. “He needs to be. His suspicious nature serves you better than most of the people you have around you.”

 

Aegon looked relieved but she could see he still had something weighing on him. It took a little to prod it out of him. “He has... concerns. I thought you might take it ill if he raised them, do you mind if I?”

 

Arya was fairly sure she wasn’t going to like this but she prompted him to continue. She glanced in Duck’s direction and saw he looked uncomfortable.

 

“It has been said that your connection to the direwolf is unnatural.”

 

She decided to ignore the understandably disturbing spectacle they must have witnessed where she _was_ the wolf. Instead she retorted back at him. “Targaryens had dragons for hundreds of years and you think a _wolf_ is unnatural?”

 

Aegon laughed. “Good point.” His mirth dried up and Arya sensed worse was yet to come. His voice was hesitant as he continued but Arya could detect a note of anger in his next words. “Your father supported Robert Baratheon’s rebellion against my family.”

 

Arya tried to keep her emotions in check but couldn’t. “Your grandfather killed my grandfather and my uncle. Your father took my Aunt. My father was _honourable_. He was good. He _hated_ war. He _hated_ leaving my mother.”

 

Aegon put his hand on her arm and she shook it off. “They killed him! I was there, Joffrey _killed_ him. I _hate_ the Baratheons and I _hate_ the Lannisters. They killed my mother and they killed Robb. I _thought_ it was only the Freys but now I know.” She bit her lip then quickly stopped. ”I overheard Lord Connington, I know that even though the Freys killed them the Lannisters were behind it.”

 

She was breathing hard, trying to stop the tears which wanted to come. “I was there. They didn’t see me, they didn’t know but I was there. They were _murdering_ Robb’s bannermen at the feast. I tried to go inside the castle, I wanted to see my mother but-“ she blinked hard. “It was too late.”

 

When she looked up Aegon grasped her hand. This time she didn’t pull away. Duck was looking at her with a face full of pity. She scowled at him. “I don’t want you feeling sorry for me. I could still beat you up.”

 

It appeared there were no more questions. Upon returning to the castle Arya was given her own quarters and her own servants as apparently fit a lady of her rank. People addressed her as “my lady” despite her protests and she was forced to give into it. They even measured her for gowns, insisting that she dress as befit her birth. She was subjected to baths, hairstyles and corsets which inhibited her breathing.

 

She was annoyed and breathless when she entered Aegon’s solar for a prearranged meeting with his inner circle. Aegon stared at her and Duck whistled. “You clean up nice.” She glowered at him and changed the subject.

 

“You need to improve Aegon’s protection.”

 

Connington looked doubtful. Arya began to detail the numerous ways in which she could have killed Aegon but hadn’t, ticking them off on her fingers. She suddenly realised she could hear a pin drop in the room. She looked up at them. Lemore was looking sick, Duck’s jaw was hanging open and Connington was looking at her as though she had sprouted a second head (not for the first time). She couldn’t suppress her irritation.

 

“Do you want to keep him safe or not? If you do then you need to hear this.”

 

Connington was the most useful to talk to about it and he immediately implemented the changes she suggested. Aegon wasn’t thrilled at the limits to his freedom. He immediately began negotiating changes and conditions, most of which involved the use of her time. When she asked him about it he shrugged.

 

“If I have to be constantly watched then I’d like it to be by people who will make it less tiresome, especially now that I can’t even have wine in case somebody poisons me.”

 

“You can have it,” Arya argued, “Just have it in your solar and make sure somebody else has some first.” She knew that the House of Black and White wanted him and only him. This way he would be safe-from poisoning, anyways. _They won't like me telling_ she realised. When she thought of what might happen if she didn't she decided that did not matter. Arya had seen enough people die in front of her, enough people she cared for had suffered. 

 

She was more relaxed knowing he was being better looked out for. Even with Aegon’s demands, she had more time for herself than she’d had before Connington made the changes. The very next day she had determined she would put it to use by going riding. She returned to her chambers and changed out of her gown and into breeches. Her plans were cut short when she passed the vent near Haldon’s room and heard voices. A snippet of conversation caught her attention.

 

.”.. would be a good reward for loyalty. The marriage would secure Winterfell.”

 

Arya barged in. “What marriage?” she demanded. “What are you doing with Winterfell?”

 

Haldon almost cringed back, Aegon wouldn’t meet her eye but Connington’s pale blue eyes met her gaze unflinchingly. “We are talking about making you a match.”

 

Arya dropped into a seat next to Haldon, pulled out the dirk she wore at her hip and embedded it in the table to make her point. “If you think you can use me to cement your alliances it won’t work. My betrothed won’t be your ally long after I geld him.”

 

Haldon cleared his throat and looked nervously between her and Connington. “His Grace is still unmarried and we now know Daenerys is looking less and less certain. The North might rally if...”

 

Jon Connington shouted “Absolutely not,” at the same time as Arya shouted “No.” Connington looked relieved to have her back him up.

 

Arya leaned forward and unstuck the dirk, slipping it back into place at her hip “I think we can all agree that I would be a terrible queen. I am no lady really. I would do more harm than good.”

 

The talks took a turn for the worse when Connington informed her that Aegon had the authority to arrange a betrothal with or without her consent. Haldon intervened to settle things down.

 

The discussion went round in circles until Arya finally summed up her position. “I am very willing to do whatever is in my power to bring support for Aegon and end Lannister rule but it cannot involve marriage. Don’t try to force this on me.”

 

She felt as though she had won a minor battle when it was agreed that they would let it rest. It was then that she realised Aegon was gone.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Arya soon found out Aegon had slipped his guards. She was torn between worried and furious. A search began but it was fruitless until Arya decided to stop by her chambers to get a coat before taking the search outside the castle. She found Aegon waiting in her solar. She snapped at him.

"What were you thinking!"

His expression was unhappy. "I needed time on my own to think.”

Arya tried to stay mad at him, she really tried but he looked so miserable. "What's wrong?"

He sighed. "Is the thought of marrying me really that objectionable?"

Arya was speechless. " _That_ is what's bothering you?" she blurted when she could finally find words.

The look on his face confirmed it. She wasn't entirely sure why he was so upset. She supposed he felt rejected. "It isn't you,” she explained. "I don't want to marry _anybody_.”

He didn't look convinced but he moved closer. "So it isn't about me,” he said uncertainly.

"No stupid,” she retorted.

Aegon moved closer and reached out to her. Any doubts she had about him still wanting her now that he knew who she was were gone when he caressed her arm. He smiled when she didn't pull away and leaned closer. Arya tried to tell herself a hug didn't matter when his hands slipped around her waist. Her own hands rested at his chest and their noses brushed.

"You are my friend," she told him.

His breath was warm against her face as he chuckled. "You know I don't only want to be your friend."

Arya knew she should push him away but she didn't and when he brushed his lips against hers she knotted her fingers in his hair and made things worse. The kiss was more this time, the way they held each other was more and Arya felt a thrill run through her as the kiss deepened. He moaned into her mouth as her nails scraped his scalp and one of his hands edged inside her tunic. They sprang apart when there was a noise outside and Arya panicked that somebody was going to come in. It passed and Aegon stepped towards her again. She quickly backed away.

"Arya,” Aegon pleaded.

"Don't,” she said abruptly. "You know this can't happen.”

She made sure nobody was outside and pulled him out of her solar. Duck was beside himself when she deposited him at his own chambers. She then fled back to her quarters cursing herself for being weak and desperately hoping Aegon wouldn't be stupid enough to tell anybody what they had done.

Despite the marriage discussion being dropped Arya soon figured out that she couldn't escape being courted. Everywhere she turned throughout the castle hopeful suitors pursued her. Aegon's supporters seemed to include an endless number of knights and lesser lordlings hoping to gain her favour. It was a struggle to be left alone. Between that and Aegon watching her with a disappointed twist to his mouth and a glint in his eye Arya was close to breaking point. Duck found it amusing and she put him in his place when he began to tease her about it over a game of Cyvasse in Aegon's solar.

"They want Winterfell, not me,” she said bitterly. "I'm not a pawn and they're not using me to take my home.”

She soon found a distraction. Arya had been aware that with the battle being victorious prisoners had been taken but it slipped her mind until there was a gathering in the great hall about a week after they had returned from battle. Men had been removed from the cells for questioning.

They tried to stop her attending but there was no way Arya was going to be kept out of a judgement of Lannister soldiers. She stalked into the great hall and looked around, taking note of the banners on the wall. She had been focused more on the people when she'd been in here before. Aegon's red three-headed dragon on its black field featured prominently. She recognised some of the others but not too many. _They should have the Stark banner up there_ she suddenly realised. Arya may not have bannermen but she represented the Starks now and of all the claimants to the throne Aegon was the one she would choose. The thought was sobering.

Arya marched up and sat on the dais next to Connington. The prisoners eyed her with a mix of disdain, curiosity, fear and something else she couldn't put her finger on. As each was marched forward and questioned she picked the lies from the truths. She leaned to whisper in Connington's ear at one point about the liars and a touch of a smile played about his lips.

"They all lie. It makes no matter."

It soon became tedious until she spotted a familiar face. She froze in place, hardly believing her luck. It was Dunsen. It was all she could do to wait until Connington was finished with the laborious process. It took hours but it was worth it. By morning he was crossed off her list though Connington looked at her suspiciously after Dunsen was found dead in the cells.

Aegon did not seem to suspect. Instead he tried to pretend now that their kiss had not happened. He pretended rather poorly though Arya was grateful for the attempt.

_It is better than him sulking._

He had gotten sick of being cooped up and watched, she knew that so she arranged for a ride in the woods. There was still a group of them but it was far freer. It also meant she could have some escape from her suitors. Arya was getting plenty out of the ride herself as she nudged her horse into a gallop, closely followed by a laughing (finally) Aegon, a selection of lords and guards.

They were about to return back to the castle when Arya heard a familiar howl so close by that she was surprised she couldn't see the wolf. Before the others could stop her she dismounted and whistled. She wasn't confident it would work but Nymeria suddenly appeared. She heard Aegon behind her and realised that he was now on foot too. She hesitated a moment then called out. "Nymeria.”

The wolf loped forward and Arya heard the men behind her becoming agitated. She wanted to see what they were doing but she couldn't break eye contact with the direwolf. She was beyond grateful when she heard Aegon say in an authoritative voice "The wolf is not to be harmed.” Nymeria came up to her and Arya ran her fingers through the shaggy coat. It was far thicker than before, she supposed that was only natural now it was colder. She laughed as Nymeria began to nip at her hands without drawing blood just as she had as a pup.

Her laughter stopped when the direwolf paced away from her and approached Aegon. She began to feel panic set in. Just as she was trying to decide what she should do Nymeria closed the distance and dropped down in front of Aegon, looking up at him with golden eyes. There was a hushed silence. Arya moved to stand with him.

"Why?" he asked, looking down at the huge she-wolf.

"She trusts you,” Arya replied. "Just like I do.”

By the time they returned to the castle the other men in the group had begun to jape about it, likening Nymeria's actions to the direwolf equivalent of bending the knee. Nymeria was always close to the castle afterwards and although nerves were frayed at first, the lack of attacks soon helped the situation to settle down.

Arya's thoughts returned to the banners hanging in the great hall. She broached the subject with Connington and Aegon the next time she saw them together."You said we need to announce my presence. I want to do more than that.”

She spent hours closeted with Connington and Haldon before they had the plan worked out. Aegon and Duck found her after dinner sitting with Lemore with a pile of parchment in front of her and a quill in her hand. There were screwed up pieces of parchment around her feet from failed attempts.

"I want to write to my brother but I can't get it right.” She tried to keep her voice level. "I'm not the same as when I saw him last. I have done things. What if he doesn't want to hear from me?"

Aegon smiled. "From what you've told me there would be no chance of that.” They joined her, offering encouragement until she got it written. She then handed it to Aegon to read.

_Dearest Jon,_

_I have thought of you so often and I wish I could have written earlier. I have only recently found safe refuge in Storm's End and it is from here that I write. I have heard that Ramsay Snow claims to have married me. It is a lie. You know me Jon, I would never submit to such a creature. Whoever Ramsay has married they are an imposter._

_I am currently under the protection of His Grace Aegon Targaryen, the Sixth of his name. They are looking after me well though they are almost as bad as Septa Mordane with their insistence that I wear gowns. I console myself that they lose more battles than they win._

_Nymeria is with me. I also still have the Needle you gave me when we parted. I practice my needlework whenever I can and I have become very good. I miss you_

_Arya Stark_

Aegon was grinning as he put the parchment down. "He gave you a needle as a present? You don't strike me as the sewing type.”

Arya promptly darted into her bedroom and retrieved the precious object from under the bed where she had hidden it. When she returned to the solar she held out the sword. " _This_ is Needle.”

Duck and Aegon roared with laughter. When they finally calmed down, Arya produced the first letter she had written, the one not intended for family and wordlessly handed it to them to read.

_I write this in my own hand from Storm's End where I am under the protection of His Grace Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his name, rightful King of Westeros._

_I am the trueborn daughter of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell by his lady wife Catelyn of House Tully. I declare upon the honour of House Stark that House Bolton and House Lannister have knowingly and wilfully installed an imposter in my place to usurp my rightful claim to Winterfell. By right of birth and blood and in the absence of my sister the Lady Sansa I do this day lay claim to Winterfell._

_I have proof of my identity if I must assuage any doubts however no one who has met me can deny that I am a Stark, that I am in fact a wolf. My father once said that the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. I am sorry to say that in this he has been wrong. I am not completely alone but it appears I am the lone wolf in this matter. He also said however that Starks endure and in this he was right. I will endure and the enemies of my House and of those who remain loyal to the Starks will soon rue the day they betrayed us._

_I call on those who see the murder of my father and the abomination of the Red Wedding as the butchery that it was to stand against those responsible._

_The North Remembers._

_Arya Stark_

_Lady of Winterfell_

_Winter is Coming_

Duck let out a low whistle and Aegon looked awed. "You didn't hold back, did you?"

She set her jaw. "I wanted to send a message.” She was glad it was done. They needed to send many copies and Arya had been determined to write it in her own hand. Her hand was so cramped now that it hurt.

They took the letters to Haldon. Connington was with him. His jaw worked and she saw alternating expressions cross his face as he read but when he was done, Arya could see he approved. They had jointly decided it needed to be stamped with the direwolf of Stark and Arya felt a surge of emotion seeing Haldon apply the seal to the many copies.

"It will stir up a hornet's nest,” Haldon warned.

"Good,” Arya declared. "Let it.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

                                                                                                 

If Arya thought the letter was going to earn her a reprieve from the lords vying for her hand she was sorely disappointed. The suitors become more insistent. It became particularly trying when a contingent of men arrived from the Reach to swear fealty to Aegon. A feast was held to honour the occasion and Arya was forced through a bath in preparation. Her handmaids put rosewater in her hair, laced her into her dress so tightly she could barely draw breath and fussed over her, applying gems and styling her hair so that it was piled on her head with wisps framing her face.

 

Her mood was dark when she made it to the hall but she forced her features into a pleasant mask. Connington had warned her that these men were important and she wasn’t to risk losing their support by doing something reckless if their attentions weren’t wanted. There had already been one incident when one of the knights became too grabby and she had busted one of his fingers with a tourney sword. She had promised to behave tonight and Connington had actually smiled.

 

Along with the lords and knights came a number of ladies too. Arya consoled herself that Aegon didn’t have it any better than her. They fawned over him, desperate to catch his eye. She watched discreetly, trying to make sure that there was nobody there who shouldn’t be. Aegon was his charming best, smiling and nodding but he moved on quite quickly and she could see his smiles were forced. When the dancing began he spent almost no time in his seat. Arya wasn’t spared either even though she was a terrible dancer. The only dancing she was good at was her water dancing. After a few difficult turns around the floor she was rather tempted to invite the rest of them to a water dance instead. It took everything she had to hold herself back.

 

She was relieved when she was given a rest from dancing but that was replaced by other attentions. Lord Ashford was very attentive, Lord Elwood was worse but Lord Shermer was the worst. They all wanted to kiss her hand and gush about her supposed beauty but Lord Shermer kissed her more than the rest combined and insisted on her taking his arm and walking with him so he could regale her with tales of the valour of his House. When she finally escaped him she threw herself down in between Haldon and Lemore. When a knight began to approach she held up her hands.

 

“Please, a little mercy. I am out of breath and in need of a rest.”

 

Haldon shook his head at her but his smile was sympathetic. “They wore you out did they?”

 

“Ugh that was tedious,” she complained. “Lord Shermer kept on and on about the size of his harvests and the magnitude of his holdfast. He was fixated with how _big_ everything is in his part of the Reach. It made me think he was trying to overcompensate for something.”

 

Haldon laughed and Lemore scolded her with a smile. “You are most wicked Lady Arya.”

 

Arya sighed. “They drive me to it. They never stop.”

 

“You’ll have to blame his Grace for that,” Haldon replied. “Lord Connington is quite wroth that he has refused to make any match unless you give your consent.”

 

Arya was dumbfounded. She had no words to respond. She looked for Aegon in the crowd but she couldn’t see him. She rose to her feet and felt a little dizzy. Her lacings had become too much. She hurried from the hall to her quarters. When she returned to her chambers, Aegon was there. He had shed his guards again. Arya began to lecture him but stopped when she saw his erratic behaviour.

 

“Have you been drinking?” She couldn’t smell it but he was being so strange.

 

Aegon’s reply was abrupt. “No but I wish I had.”

 

She shot him a puzzled look and stepped into the next room to loosen her corset as best she could. She couldn’t stand it a minute longer. The relief was instant as she sucked in a decent lungful of air. “Finally, I can breathe!”

 

Aegon didn’t laugh. “I get harassed just for looking at you,” he said bitterly. “Lord Shermer and his like get to kiss you and touch you and that is not only condoned, he _encourages_ it!”

 

Arya didn’t need to guess to know who the _he_ was. She had seen Connington and Aegon murmuring in low unhappy voices. Every time they saw she was near they went quiet.  “He is worried because of your father and my aunt.” She began letting her hair down.

 

“I am not my father! My father is dead! You are not your Aunt. We are our own people.”

 

Arya heard him behind her and tried to adjust her gown. In her rush to undo her lacings it had sagged in front. When she began to cover herself he caught her wrist. “Don’t.”

 

She looked into his face and felt her colour rise at the way he was looking at her. His grip on her wrist loosened when he saw she didn’t try to escape. He ran his thumb down her cheek and the gap between them shrank. Arya didn’t take her eyes off him. This time she kissed him first. Aegon almost sounded as though he growled as she slipped her arms around his neck. When his hand pushed inside her bodice and he palmed her breast she moaned.

 

Arya knew she wasn't supposed to but it was getting harder to remember why and she had given up the fight. She had been relentlessly pursued by men wanting her just for her claim to Winterfell. She wasn’t sure why Aegon wanted her but she knew he didn’t care about taking her home. She also knew she liked him. He was her friend. She trusted him and gods, it felt good when he touched her.

 

Aegon pressed his body close to hers and she felt the bulge in his breeches. She broke the kiss. “You want to fuck me,” she observed.

 

He flushed and she was bothered to realise he was even attractive while blushing. ”That is a blunt way to put it.” He didn’t say anything more but Arya could see his answer written all over his face.

 

Arya bit her lip and brought her hand up to trace his jaw. “I want to let you.”

 

He stripped her down to her small clothes faster than she would have believed. She guessed that he was worried she would change her mind. She had no intention of it. He tumbled her onto the bed, ripping off his tunic. When they were skin to skin he paused. “Are you a maiden Arya?”

 

She didn’t know how to answer. _He has probably been with so many women_. She didn’t want him to stop so she just gave a small nod. “I know how things work,” she said indignantly, “I spent lots of time in whore houses in Braavos.”

 

He grinned the widest grin and gave her a lingering kiss. Just when she thought he wasn’t going to do anything, he began to touch her gently. His kisses were like the last they shared only this time there was no interruption, nothing to stop them as Arya touched him too, trying to cover her shyness because she did not want him to know that despite what she said and all that she had seen, having him on top of her and running her fingers over his body was entirely new and she did not want to do it wrong. He smiled at her, his lips moving to her jaw and ran his hand down, brushing past her breast and over her stomach. She gasped when he slipped his finger inside her. “I’ll be good to you,” he whispered in her ear.

 

The feeling was like nothing she could have imagined and as it overtook her whole body she cried out unashamedly. He guided her legs around his waist and murmured an apology as he penetrated her. A single tear fell from her eye and Aegon wiped it away, whispering soothing words until the pain subsided. When he moved again, his face was a mask of pleasure and after he spilled his seed and she lay in his embrace, Arya didn’t think she’d ever felt closer to another person. _Connington is going to want to lock me in a tower if he finds out_ she thought with a shudder.

 

Aegon didn’t want to go but she insisted. The last thing they needed was to be found together and she knew his absence would have well and truly been noticed by now. When he was gone, Arya retrieved a pouch from her belongings. She looked at the tea, knowing she would need to brew some. She had always made sure she was prepared. No matter her training she always knew she was at risk. There were rapers on the ships and so far she had probably been lucky. She hadn’t anticipated it being her choice.

 

Arya swore it would only be the one time but Aegon weakened her resolve within a week. He kept finding ways for them to be alone in his quarters. He did not hold back with his affection and he confided things to her and sought her counsel even more than he did before. It was that even more so than his obvious desire that led her to his bed again. Arya had to sink her teeth into his shoulder so that the guards couldn’t hear her cries. She desperately hoped nobody could see the mark she left. It was clearly teeth marks. She was fussing over it when he began to give her an intense look again.

 

“They still want me to marry my Aunt. I don’t want to. I don’t love her.”

 

Arya sat up and pulled her tunic back on, giving him an irritated look. “You don’t have to love her stupid, you just have to marry her.” _Her or somebody else you need_.

 

She could see him thinking about it, looking doubtful and she knew he wanted to argue. She grasped his chin in her hand, forcing him to look at her.

 

“Sansa thought she loved Joffrey, that ended badly. Robb married somebody he loved and it helped get him killed. Love in a marriage is not everything. Do what you need to do.”

 

She thought wistfully of her parents. They had loved each other, she knew that but they were both dead now. Aegon nodded slowly and began getting dressed. When Duck returned they were both seated playing Cyvasse. Arya was losing but her thoughts were elsewhere. Her thoughts were on Daenerys.

 

Whoever wanted Daenerys on the throne they were willing to go to great lengths to achieve it. The House of Black and White would not have given up. They were waiting, Arya wasn’t sure what for. If they thought she would get complacent they were wrong. Arya was even more determined now. She would not be caught off guard.

 


	11. Chapter 11: Aegon

Chapter 11: Aegon

 

She had been a puzzle at first. Nobody spoke to him the way she did. He never knew she was in the room with him until she was already there. She seemed to know of his presence before he ever announced it. At the beginning, when she wasn’t wearing her face he never knew what she was thinking. Her face was a mask. Even after he saw her true face she was still faceless in a sense, with barely a flicker of emotion to be seen unless she willed it.

 

She was still a puzzle but he was starting to figure out some of the pieces. She showed a little of herself, the _real_ her when she japed with him and Duck. She showed even more when she argued with him. He found himself teasing her just to see _her_ , not the mask she showed everybody else. Her eyes would get so stormy, her eyes were what gave her away. What really got to him though was her smiles. She had her false smiles but when she spoke about the people she cared about, when she spoke about her bastard brother her smile was real.

 

The first time she laughed it seemed as though she hadn’t laughed in years. She stopped abruptly in the middle of it, looking confused. They had stripped her of almost all that had been her but he was seeing it come back. He might not have known her before but he was starting to know her now.

 

He wasn’t allowed to tell her she was beautiful even though she was. It didn’t matter whether she wore dresses or breeches. It made him angry to think that somebody had told her that she wasn’t. She was terribly stubborn but then so was he.

 

They had warned him she was dangerous. He knew it himself. It should have made him stay away but it had the opposite effect. He knew he wanted her. Lord Connington had disapproved the moment he found out who she was. He had immediately wanted her gone. They had argued long and hard about it and Aegon only barely got his own way and that was only because he appealed to Lord Connington’s guilt over his father’s death.

 

“If you send her away the next one _will_ kill me. This will all be for nothing.”

 

Aegon didn’t want to admit it but Lord Connington had been right, not in wanting to send her away but he was right to warn him. He had known what Aegon would do well before he did it but he didn’t know all. Aegon was finding he was more like his father in this than he would have thought (not that he would admit it) but Arya was not her Aunt. She may have let him bed her but she wouldn’t budge about his marriage.

 

Lord Connington didn’t know. Aegon was sure he didn’t know. If he did there was no way he would have let Arya continue to come to his quarters. He had foolishly gone to Connington after the first time in Arya’s bed, appealing to him to agree to him asking for Arya’s hand. It had not gone well. Now Arya herself was telling him to marry somebody else.

 

Arya disappeared a few days later, after a report of a sighting of Lannister soldiers. No sooner had she left then Nymeria had appeared at his side. He wasn’t sure what to think of it. Lord Connington made a single attempt to remove the direwolf then gave up when it became clear that the wolf would not be parted from him without likely bloodshed.

 

It quickly became amusing. They made quite a spectacle. He and Duck fed her from his table in the hall at dinner. She followed him throughout the castle. The she-wolf even slept in his chambers at night. There were a couple of occasions where he woke to find her snarling at something he couldn’t see.

 

Connington looked at the wolf as Aegon joined him and Haldon for one of their war council meetings but he didn’t say a word. Nymeria sat by his chair as they talked. Haldon had received ravens.

 

“Dorne is still delaying but we have hope of more support in the Reach. The Tyrell-Lannister alliance is becoming more strained by the day, especially since we dealt that blow to the Tyrell army.”

 

Connington looked thoughtful. “If Lady Arya’s letter brings the North Dorne might be more willing to lend support. Prince Doran doesn’t want to risk being on the losing side but if we have the combined forces of the Stormlands, large parts of the Reach and the North then we will be in a much stronger position. The Eyrie is undeclared for any of the rivals for the throne. We would have support from close to four of six kingdoms actively involved in the war.”

 

“We have some replies there,” Haldon said. “There is one from an Alys Karstark who speaks for the Karstarks, she pledges support to the rightful heir of Winterfell. There is a peculiar one from Lyanna Mormont from Bear Island pledging support of a different kind. There is one from Robbett Glover in a similar vein to that of the Karstarks. They do not make mention of Aegon. The final and perhaps most interesting one of all-there is a response from the Lord Protector of the Eyrie, Peytr Baelish.”

 

Connington’s head snapped up. “Baelish wrote us?”

 

Haldon smiled thinly. “He did. The little Lord of the Eyrie is the Lady Arya’s cousin. Lord Baelish was apparently quite shocked that there might be an imposter posing as the little Lord’s dear cousin. He would like to verify that our Arya Stark is the real deal and make sure she is provided for before she returns to her place in Winterfell. There is mention of her being welcome at the Eyrie-“

 

“She can’t go to the Eyrie,” Aegon said, appalled.

 

“Of course not your Grace,” Connington said. “Baelish is in league with the Lannisters. He would think us fools to send her to him.”

 

Haldon cleared his throat. “-she is _welcome_ at the Eyrie or Baelish would send a representative to meet with her to ensure her wellbeing.”

 

“What was curious about the raven from Lyanna Mormont?” Aegon asked.

 

Haldon smirked. “Their exact wording says Bear Island views the Starks as the rightful Kings of the North. Apparently we have us a queen and we didn’t know it. They will not bend the knee to his Grace but it appears they will bend the knee to the Lady Arya.”

 

“Queen of the North,” Aegon laughed. “She detests the idea of being Queen. You saw her reaction when a match with me was suggested. I look forward to telling her that one.”

 

Connington was unsmiling. “It may be different when she is being offered the title without marriage. She wants war, that one. That is plain to see.”

 

Aegon’s smile withered. “You think she would leave?”

 

“She will do what she will. Time will tell what that is.” Connington’s tone suggested that was the end of the matter. He switched topics to Aegon’s hopes instead. “We have heard rumours Daenerys may be about to move. We don’t know exact details but the battle in Meereen settled in her favour. We can hope that she will turn her eye to Westeros now.”

 

Aegon was less than happy. “She has been supposed to be coming to Westeros forever now,” he grumbled.

 

Connington bristled. “You’re not still dwelling on Lady Arya?”

 

“She won’t marry me,” he said quickly, realising instantly he was too quick.

 

Connington gave him a long look. “I’m grateful at least one of you has sense. You need to stop pining about this. We need Daenerys and her dragons.”

 

Aegon pursed his lips. “I don’t need you to lecture me too, Arya already said. I’ll marry Daenerys if she agrees.”

 

The  _if_ bothered him. Once he thought it a certainty, now he was not as confident. Daenerys  _must_ have heard of him and yet she still lingered in Essos. Aegon had no shortage of lords seeking for him to wed their daughters but his aunt had  _dragons_. Aegon was descended from the Conqueror, his bride must be a worthy match. His queen needed to be more than a pretty face.  _Arya and Daenerys both descend from kings_. Arya did not want to wed him though, and if she could refuse him then mayhaps his aunt delayed for reasons other than war. _  
_

Aegon woke in the night to hear Nymeria whining. He started when he saw a figure in his room. His candle had blown out and he couldn’t see properly. As they stepped closer he scrambled, feeling for a weapon.

 

“I’m glad she is with you,” It was Arya’s voice. Aegon sighed in relief and the room was illuminated again when Arya lit the candle.

 

“I must have a word with the guards again,” Arya said and he could see she wasn’t happy. “I shouldn’t have been able to get in here undetected.”

 

“They only cut back because of Nymeria,” Aegon said defensively. “Anyway, I can protect myself. I’m tired of being guarded. I can fight you know.”

 

Her expression was unreadable. Aegon tried to think what to say to her. He tried a smile. “Will you tell me where you have been?”

 

She didn’t reply. He began to feel angry. “You just left. I’ve had to deal with letters and requests for your hand and you haven’t even been here.” He remembered the raven from Bear Island and his mouth twisted. “Do you want to be Queen in the North?”

 

That got a reaction. Her eyes flashed with anger. “Why would you ask that?”

 

“We got a raven,” he said abruptly. “Bear Island only bends the knee to Starks. You won’t be my queen but you _would_ be queen in the North.”

 

“No,” she said quickly, scrambling towards him on the bed. “I can’t be anybody’s queen. I don’t even want to be a lady. I only want the people who hurt my family to pay. I want our enemies to pay.”

 

“Our enemies?” he asked hopefully, pulling her against him as she removed her tunic. Her eyes had darkened as she leaned into him.

 

“ _Our_ enemies,” she repeated.

 

Aegon couldn’t marry her, he knew that but he could still claim her, if only for a few stolen moments. She stayed with him this time, he could hear her even breathing as he held her. Just before he could fall asleep he heard her begin whispering.

_“Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei, Ramsay Bolton, the Freys, the Freys, the Freys. Valar Morghulis.”_

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to comments from the previous chapter, yes, Ser Ilyn is dead (he died off page while Arya was gone in the previous chapter). Roose is not on the list because I imagine Arya holds Ramsay more directly responsible, after all, he is the one who supposedly married her and has claimed her home and was doing god knows what to Jeyne Poole. In the books there are other characters we expect Arya might have a problem with who don’t make the list. For example, Cersei is on the list but Jaime is not even though Jaime did plenty of damage to the Starks. The absence of Roose’s name on the list does not mean Arya won’t take issue with him if she comes across him.

Chapter 12

 

Arya retreated from Aegon’s quarters before dawn. He made a noise of protest as she slipped from his arms then promptly went back to sleep. She was summoned to meet with Haldon, Connington and Aegon after she broke her fast. They filled her in on the ravens. Arya hid her prior knowledge of the message from Bear Island, choosing simply to repeat what she had told Aegon the previous night.

 

She was disappointed that there was no reply from Jon. It made her worry that he didn’t want to hear from her until Haldon mentioned heavy snow up North and that not all ravens would have reached their destination. When they told her about the response from the Eyrie she curled her lip.

 

“Littlefinger is as bad as the Lannisters. I don’t want to see him _or_ his representative. When I said I could prove my identity I didn’t mean that I would be interested in some mummer’s show with them.”

 

It was decided to wait a little longer and see if more responses arrived before deciding how to respond to the Northern letters. In the meantime, Aegon had become tired of being shut up in the castle. He wanted to ride out and see parts of the realm, the safer parts anyway. There was a lengthy argument about it but even though he was outnumbered none of them could put him off. His final argument settled it.

 

“I need to be seen as somebody who cares about the realm, not some craven who hides in a castle.”

 

They rode out two days later, Aegon intent on covering as much ground as he could. Arya rode with him along with a healthy column of sellswords and knights. They veered away from the main roads, visiting Bronzegate and Haystack hall before cutting back and stopping at the location of Summerhall. Arya had heard the name before but not the history. It was a sad story.

 

While they were travelling and there were less eyes, Ayra put Aegon’s claim that he could fight to the test. He was rather sceptical when she challenged him

 

“I know you’re sneaky and quick but this is _swords_ ,” he said in a worried voice.

 

“Fine,” she retorted back. “If you’re scared we’ll use tourney swords.”

 

That set Duck off. He teased Aegon relentlessly until he gave in. It didn’t really take that much, Arya knew he had pride.

 

He _was_ good but she was still better. He was quick, she was quicker. He was stronger but that didn’t help him when he couldn’t catch her. His pride was wounded at first. Arya shook her head.

 

“I could beat Duck senseless too you know.”

 

“Hey,” Duck protested and Aegon burst out laughing.

 

Arya felt a sense of freedom in being away from the castle. She had felt as much a prisoner as Aegon had.  The two of them were more relaxed, they were able to ride their horses more recklessly as long as they minded the scouts and they did.

 

He surprised her. He took care of his own horse and managed his own belongings. He blended in well with the people they met, if it wasn’t for the use of titles nobody would even know he was a claimant to the throne. He conversed easily with the smallfolk. She could see his pain over the state of the lands, the devastation and it touched her. He did, however, take more risks with her.

 

The first time he came to her room in the inn they were staying in, she panicked and told him to go.

 

“Duck will know.”

 

He smiled. “Duck already knows.”

 

Arya felt stupid and remembered her very first lesson with Syrio. _I have not been looking._ Of course Duck knew, how could he not? He was Kingsguard and he was with Aegon almost constantly.

 

“We will still be found out!”

 

Aegon was unfazed. “I’m not sure I care.”

 

“You should!” she protested.

 

Despite her concerns, his recklessness began to rub off on her. When he came to her one night as they neared Storm’s End she initiated their love making. Having him beneath her, gazing up at her as she took control made her feel free in a whole different way. Aegon seemed to like it and he encouraged her. As she neared her peak she cried out in Braavosi, not even considering whether she might be heard. He grinned.

 

“Tell me what you said.”

 

She laughed and refused and he frowned.

 

“That isn’t fair,” he complained, putting on a mock angry expression. “You picked the one language I _don’t_ know.”

 

She smiled wickedly. “If I tell you what I said I will make you blush and you surely won’t think I’m a lady.”

 

He shook his head. “I don’t want a proper lady.”

 

“I still won’t tell you, stupid,” she retorted.

 

They were quiet for a little and she settled down to rest. She started as he began gently caressing her shoulder with his fingers. “I could legitimise your brother. I can do that you know.”

 

Arya sucked in her breath and rolled over to face him. Aegon often went quiet when she spoke of Jon. Arya sometimes wondered if he was truly listening. Now she knew he did and tears stung her eyes to think of Jon not having to be a bastard any more. Arya did not care, she loved him the same anyway but she knew Jon cared. Aegon had no reason to think of Jon though, no reason but her.

 

 _He would make Jon a Stark in name. He would do that for me_.

 

“I know he can’t hold lands or have titles in the Night’s Watch,” Aegon said quickly. “I just thought-“

 

Arya stopped him with a kiss. “Thank you.” She couldn’t wait to write to Jon.

 

Nymeria had been following closely, accompanied by a large number of the grey wolves which had formed her pack. Arya woke to her howling and knew instantly there was a problem. She had expected it ever since Aegon had told her about Nymeria growling in his chambers. She lunged, pressing the point of her dagger right at the heart of the intruder just as he managed to press his own blade to her throat. Aegon woke in the middle of it.

 

She was sure she was a sight. She hadn’t dressed and her hair was hanging wildly around her face. None of it mattered.

 

“A girl will die,” the intruder said.

 

 _They know I have been telling people about them._ She had told very little but she tensed anyway. The man hesitated and then Arya knew he wasn't sent for her.

 

“I think not,” Arya shot back. “If you wanted me you would have done it already. It is not my name which has been chosen.”

 

She heard Aegon scrambling but didn’t look at him. “We’re not killing him Aegon,” she said quickly. “Not yet.”

 

“The many faced god is unhappy,” the intruder said. “The gift must be given.”

 

Arya snorted. “Don’t pretend this has anything to do with gods. The House of Black and White has been paid for a service. That is all.”

 

The mask of the faceless man faltered and he blinked. “Just so. The god must still be appeased.”

 

Arya thought back to Harrenhal and Jaqen H’ghar’s talk of exchanging names. “I was told once that a name can be exchanged. As long as the many faced god has his due it should not matter.”

 

She saw the expression flicker and the blade dropped a little. She continued. “Two of His servants have been given the gift while undertaking this task, why do you still come?”

 

The man in front of her smiled. “More than one offer was made. Somebody is praying very hard.”

 

Arya would have laughed if she wasn’t so frightened. _Fear cuts deeper than swords_ she told herself. “I want to let you go,” she said.

 

“Arya,” Aegon protested.

 

She ignored him. “I want you to give the House of Black and White a message. How many servants are they willing to lose?”

 

The man frowned. “One will succeed.”

 

“And then what?” she challenged him. “Do you think I will let it go? The House of Black and White will be my enemy.” She thought of her list. “Somebody once called me dark heart. I think I understand why. If you wrong me I will not let this go.”

 

The man nodded. “The message will be delivered, Arya of House Stark.”

 

She kept her dagger pointed at him as he made his escape. When he was finally gone she realised she was trembling. Aegon put his arms around her and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

 

She tried to put it out of her head and enjoy the rest of the ride back to Storm’s End. They arrived just after lunch and Arya instantly knew something was wrong when Haldon sought her out in her quarters.

 

“There has been a raven Lady Arya,” his eyes were full of pity. “Jon Snow is dead.”

 

Arya couldn’t answer him. She sat, dry eyed in her solar trying not to think. Lemore came to her not long after and found her staring dumbly at Needle. Arya was vaguely aware of her talking in a sweet voice, brushing stray hair away from Arya’s face and stroking her arm.

 

Arya had said at the House of Black and White that she had no heart, only a hole. For a hole it was hurting quite a lot. _I really am the lone wolf now_. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the door to her solar burst open and Aegon strode in.

 

“When you didn’t come to dinner they told me. I’m so sorry.”

 

His face was so solemn and sad and so different to his usual bearing and it tore at her. Arya could have withstood a lot of things right then but Aegon broke her. She took one look at his face, somehow looking so like Jon used to after he had been slighted by her mother and she crumpled. His arms were strong around her as she sobbed. She could feel his fingers smoothing her hair and heard him trying to make soothing noises and she clung to him.

 

The door opened and closed and she was sure that Aegon would be taken away but he stayed. At one point she heard Lemore say “Leave them be,” and guessed Connington had come. She knew he would be wroth but right then she didn’t care. Her eyes were bleary and she could only just focus on Aegon’s features when she finally lifted her head.

 

“Do you think he would have read my letter before... do you think he knows that I’m alright and that I missed him and-“

 

Aegon’s voice was gentle. “Yes.” She could see the doubt in his eyes as he said it but just this one time she didn’t want to see the lies. She buried her face in Aegon’s tunic again.

 

Postscript: I'm sorry readers :) I swear I'll make it up to you

 


	13. Chapter 13: Brienne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have chosen not to include any content in this chapter speculating on what happened when Jaime went with Brienne in a Dance with Dragons. I don’t want to deviate from the book so excuse any omissions of info you would have liked.

Chapter 13: Brienne

 

Brienne had waited three days for an audience. At first she was told that the Lady was absent, then that she was indisposed. She was starting to wonder if they had invented their Arya Stark when she was finally summoned and ushered into a small audience chamber. She stood feeling rather out of place. Four people were seated behind a bench with guards posted around them. She recognised one of the knights as Kingsguard by his white cloak. There was a lot of tension in the air.

 

Lord Connington sat on the right. He reminded  Brienne a little of Randyll Tarly. He looked to be a hard man. He studied her as she entered the room and his pale blue eyes were cold.

The Targaryen sat in the middle. If a young man could be beautiful, _this_ young man surely was. He had the silver blond hair and purple eyes of the Targaryens, he was tall and lithe and well made. His expression seemed curious but not overly unkind. Brienne was not sure what to think of it. The lady Arya (if it was indeed Arya) was expressionless. Brienne could see her eyes were red and her face puffy. She was slim, dark haired with grey eyes. A septa sat beside her. Brienne recalled Lady Catelyn’s description of the girls. Sansa was said to be very beautiful, but the same was not said of Arya. Lady Catelyn had said Arya lacked her sister’s beauty. Brienne was not sure this girl matched that description.

 

Lord Connington began proceedings. “State your purpose.”

 

Brienne cleared her throat. “I am Brienne of Tarth. I was in service to Lady Catelyn Stark. I was sent out to seek her daughters, the Lady Sansa and Lady Arya.”

 

The Targaryen frowned. “What do you want of Lady Arya?”

 

Brienne faltered. The lady still hadn’t shown the slightest flicker of emotion. It was disturbing. Brienne was starting to feel a real sense of alarm. _What have they done to her?_

 

“I wanted to make sure she was safe. I was supposed to return her to Riverrun before... I wanted to see that she was protected, to fulfil the oath I made-“

 

The young man looked bothered. “She _is_ safe. She _is_ protected.”

 

 _This is not going well_ she thought.

 

“Forgive me your Grace,” Brienne said “but I need to be certain.”

 

He gave her a look of reproach. “ _You_ couldn’t do better. You’re just a big woman. Your armour and your sword doesn’t make you fit to take Arya. It hasn’t even protected _you_. You’re disfigured!”

 

Brienne flinched. _This is not going well at all_.

 

The young woman’s hand shot out and clasped the Targaryen’s fingers. His eyes flicked to her and softened. Brienne did not miss the way Lord Connington’s mouth tightened.

 

The tension was broken when the young woman spoke for the first time. “That is unkind, your Grace,” her face still betrayed nothing. “Beautiful people are capable of being rather ugly. Appearance should not be our concern, only the Lady’s intentions.”

 

The Targaryen looked shamed. “I apologise if I caused offense, my Lady.”

 

Brienne was taken aback. She could only gape at him for a moment. “I- No apology is necessary, your Grace.”

 

“I was informed that you had been supplied with fresh garments,” Lord Connington said. “I see that you have not seen fit to wear them.”

 

The young woman interjected again. “I am rather less than fond of gowns myself. Let her dress as she pleases. I have other more pressing concerns. I want to know why you are here.”

 

Brienne swallowed. “As I said, the Lady Catelyn-“

 

“My mother is dead,” the girl’s tone was flat.

 

 _Not as much as you might think_ Brienne thought to herself. She couldn’t say that though. She looked at the girl. She was clearly highborn though there was no resemblance to Catelyn Stark. She hesitated.

 

“You really are the Lady Arya?”

 

The young woman rose and moved towards her. The way she moved was eerie. She trod so lightly she all but floated. Movement behind her caught Brienne’s eye and she gasped. A huge wolf followed the girl’s every step.

 

“I _am_ Arya Stark.”

 

Brienne suddenly realised that the girl was looking at the pommel of her sword. For the first time, Brienne saw a flicker of some emotion cross that face and it was not a pleasant one.

 

“My Lady I must ask you to give me your sword.”

 

Brienne did not want to unsheathe Oathkeeper but she did not feel she could refuse, particularly given the certainty she now had that this _was_ Arya Stark. She reluctantly handed the blade to the young woman. Arya took it and looked it over in a calculating way. There was something unsettling in the way she handled the blade. _She is not unfamiliar with a sword_ Brienne realised with a start.

 

“Where did you get this?” Arya demanded.

 

“It-it was given to me by Jaime Lannister. I-”

 

“Lannister,” The girl hissed and the wolf behind her growled. Brienne saw the Targaryen jump to his feet. She hastened to finish her explanation.

 

“Your mother had me escort him to King’s Landing. There was to be an exchange, Ser Jaime for you and Sansa but you were both gone when I arrived there. Ser Jaime gave me the sword and sent me out to find you, to fulfil my oath.” She shifted awkwardly, knowing the next part wouldn’t be taken well. “The sword was forged from your father’s blade.”

 

Anger darkened the girl’s features. She turned away, walking towards the Targaryen. She set the blade down in front of him and said something in a tongue Brienne couldn’t understand. Whatever is was, Brienne knew she was unhappy. The young man spoke back to her and Brienne saw even Connington give Brienne an angry look.

 

“My Lady,” Brienne faltered. “Lady Arya, I know it is a heavy request but may I have the sword returned? My oath is not completed yet. I must find the Lady Sansa, your sister.”

 

Arya whirled around. “You may not have the sword back.” Her eyes narrowed. “You are from Tarth? Tarth is subject to Aegon’s rule now. You owe your fealty to Aegon.”

 

The Targaryen smiled fondly at the girl and Brienne felt her throat constrict. “I’m sorry my Lady, I cannot. I serve Catelyn Stark”

 

There was another flash of anger across Arya’s face. “My mother is dead!”

 

Brienne couldn’t answer her. She was trying to find words when Arya became expressionless again, then a strange, fleeting smile appeared on her face. “I will give you the sword if you spar with me and win.”

 

Brienne was horrified. “I won’t harm you.”

 

Laughter erupted from behind the bench. The Targaryen was greatly amused. Even Lord Connington had a smile on his face. When Brienne looked to Arya, the girl had a grin as wolfish as the animal still shadowing her and Brienne realised she was not just pretty, she was _beautiful_.

 

Before she could decide what to say next, the big man in the Kingsguard cloak produced a blunted sword and tossed it to her. The Lady Arya received her own sword, a bravo blade from the Targaryen. Brienne was still trying to figure out how to get out of it when the girl lunged. Brienne was forced to evade her strike but she only barely made it in time. Arya pivoted and darted around to strike again. The girl was quick.

 

Brienne found herself pushed. She could not land a blow, not that she truly wanted to. Suddenly Arya smiled. It was over in seconds when the girl began to move even more quickly and Brienne lost her footing. She sank to one knee and the girl’s blade was pointed at her throat. Brienne was stunned. She heard clapping and saw the Targaryen on his feet, a wide smile on his face.

 

“You _are_ good with a sword, Lady Brienne. I’m not sure I push her that much.”

 

Brienne wasn’t quite sure what had happened. She did know that Oathkeeper was gone. She felt dismay. She had failed. A hand grasped her arm.

 

“Don’t be upset my Lady,” Arya said. “I can see truths. I know you truly want to help my sister. I seek her too.”

 

In that instant Brienne knew what she had to do. She pledged her sword to the service of Arya Stark. In finding this girl, her oath was half fulfilled. Brienne was certain that somehow, in serving this girl she would find Sansa.

 

They left the audience chamber together, with Arya escorting Brienne to her quarters. On the way, Brienne hesitantly commented on her red eyes.

 

Arya’s response was flat. “I just found out my one remaining brother is dead.”

 

Brienne didn’t know what to say to that. They kept walking.

 

"You must forgive Aegon, he is very protective,” Arya said softly.

 

 _Aegon_. It was very familar. Brienne had a sneaking suspicion that the younger sister was following her older sister's footsteps. "Are you betrothed to his Grace?" she asked.

 

"No,” Arya said abruptly. "We are friends.”

 

 _Friends_. Brienne wasn't sure that was how she would describe what she had witnessed.

 

“Lord Connington doesn’t like me,” Brienne observed.

 

Arya’s response was quick and reassuring “Lord Connington doesn’t like anybody except Aegon.”

 

“He is going to try to make me wear a gown.”

 

Arya’s expression flickered into a ghost of a smile. “If he does I will find you more breeches and he won’t like where I take them from.”

 

When they reached Brienne’s quarters, she finally asked the one question she had wanted to ask at the very beginning. “My lady, where have you been all this time?”

 

The answer was cryptic. “Learning to survive.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

 

Arya was exhausted when she finally separated from Brienne. When she returned to her own quarters, Lemore was waiting for her in her solar. The sword Arya had taken from Brienne was sitting on the table.

 

“You did well, you are strong.”

 

Arya felt defensive. “I don’t need to be reassured. I’m a woman grown now.”

 

She stretched out her hand running her fingers along the side of the blade. _This was Ice_. She felt her mouth twist looking at the pommel, the lion heads and rubies set into it.

 

“My father’s sword can’t have a lion pommel.”

 

Lemore was quick to reassure her. “It can be reworked. We can get it remade into whatever you think it should be.”

 

Arya nodded and set the sword aside, still seething.

 

Lemore put her arm around Arya when she took her seat. Arya tensed, then finally accepted the woman’s embrace. “You don’t have to be alone, Arya.”

 

Arya didn’t like being fussed over but she sat dutifully as Lemore brushed her hair out, humming some sort of tune. The rhythmic strokes of the brush _were_ comforting, even if Arya didn’t want to admit she liked it. Tears pricked her eyes remembering how her mother would sometimes sit with her and sing. She angrily brushed them away.

There wasn’t a lot of peace before Connington arrived “Leave us Lemore.”

 

“My Lord, is this really the time?”

 

Connington looked at Lemore with cold eyes. “You may have a weakness for Starks, I do not.”

 

Arya saw Lemore go very pale and she hurriedly rose, leaving Arya alone in the solar with Connington. He stared at her. Arya met his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. She had expected this. She had known it was coming.

 

“Whatever it is you are doing with Aegon, it ends now.”

 

Arya sighed. “I have tried.”

 

“He is to marry Daenerys.”

 

“I agree.”

 

Connington’s eyes narrowed. “They you need to end this. Daenerys cannot see him clinging to you.”

 

Arya pulled herself to her full height. “You do not know Daenerys.”

 

“I know that she is his blood. She is Rhaegar’s sister and Aegon needs to be her consort. He needs to win her hand.”

 

Arya narrowed her own eyes now. “Then I suggest you tell him to go back to dying his hair blue, calling himself Griff and playing the sellsword.”

 

Connington bristled “Tell me what you mean.”

 

“I mean that he is too _good_ for her.”

 

Connington looked exasperated. “She is Targaryen. They are equal. You cannot think that-“

 

Arya lost control. She stamped her foot in frustration. “Stop being stupid. That is not what I meant. I _know_ her type. She is drawn to _dangerous_ men.”

 

Connington frowned. “How do you know?”

 

“I was trained to gather information. I know things, lots of things.”

 

Connington pursed his lips. “Tell me.”

 

“Daenerys married a Dothraki khal, a savage man. She _loved_ him. Even after he murdered her brother in front of her she _still_ loved him. She then married a Meereenese noble but she has been fucking a Tyroshi sellsword. The sellsword is dangerous, just like the Khal was. Those are the sorts of men she loves.”

 

She could see Connington thinking

 

“I’m not saying she is bad, from what I’ve learned she has a nature like Aegon’s. They might like each other but she will not love him.”

 

“They don’t need to love each other,” Connington said abruptly.

 

“I know that. I told Aegon the same. He will marry her if she will have him, I will see to it.”

 

Connington studied her and she thought she could see grudging respect. “The longer he has you the more difficult he will be. He won’t want to let you go.”

 

"I will make him let me go." Arya dropped into a seat and looked down at her hands. “He is happy.”

 

“He is,” Connington said grudgingly

 

“You knew his father.”

 

“I did.”

 

Arya looked up at him “Was Rheagar happy?”

 

Connington took the seat across from her. He suddenly looked very tired. “No.”

 

“Let Aegon be happy while he can.”

 

“There cannot be any Targaryen bastards,” he said sharply

 

Arya refused to be offended. “There won’t be.”

 

They sat in silence for a while. Arya took note of the gloves, the excess covering over his arm. She stood, moving close to Connington and tapping his arm. “Will you show me?”

 

He looked wary, glancing quickly at the door before removing the glove. Arya sucked in her breath. His fingers were completely black and the grey was starting to creep up his hand.

 

“How long do you think you have?”

 

Connington wrinkled his forehead. “Maybe a couple of years. It might be more. Some people can last a decade though I’ve already lived with it for more than a year.”

 

“If I give you something to slow the spread will you take it?”

 

He studied her. “Why would you do that?”

 

“He needs you,” Ayra said simply.

 

A small smile crossed Connington’s face. He nodded. “I underestimated you.”

 

“Everybody does.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

 

Arya kept remembering what Connington had said to Lemore. _You might have a weakness for Starks..._ She tried to find Lemore after speaking with Connington but the woman was in hiding. Arya knew she could find her easily enough but it was clear she wasn’t ready to talk yet so Arya decided to let it be for now. She soon had more pressing things to think about.

 

Haldon had received a raven from White Harbour. It was an invitation for Arya to meet with the Manderleys. Arya had already written a refusal to Littlefinger but the issue of what to do about the Northern replies had been unsettled. This changed things.

 

“It may be a trap,” Haldon said.

 

“It might not be either,” Arya replied. “The Manderleys have been sworn to the Starks for more than a thousand years. I was told the stories when I was a girl.”

 

Connington looked thoughtful. “There needs to be some action otherwise the letter looks like an empty gesture. Words will not be enough to sway the North.”

 

Arya gripped the table in front of her tightly. “I need to meet with them.”

 

She was surprised with the speed with which Connington acted. A ship was made ready. It was heavily provisioned and Arya was going to be accompanied by her own contingent of men from among those in Aegon’s army. They did not fly banners.

 

“If we fly the Stark banner you will be a target,” Connington advised. “If you fly the Targaryen banner I can imagine the welcome may not be as warm as we might like.”

 

Not for the first time Arya found herself respecting Connington. He knew what he was doing.

 

It was difficult getting Nymeria on board the ship. The direwolf was needed but she did not like leaving dry land. She whined when Arya tried to get her on board. The wolf would not move until Arya got desperate and managed to slip into Nymeria’s skin again. Once Nymeria was securely on the ship she began to howl. The crew were less than thrilled.

 

On her way to boarding the ship, Aegon had appeared by her side with Duck. He had dyed his hair blue. Arya wondered if Connington had told him of their conversation.

 

“You look ridiculous.”

 

He grinned. “As long as I blend in with the other men I don’t care.”

 

“You shouldn’t be coming,” she warned.

 

“Yes I heard you the first hundred times,” he said patiently, flashing another brilliant smile at her. “You’re as bad as Lord Connington. Nobody will know.”

 

Arya settled down in her cabin as the journey began. She was sharing with Brienne. The Lady of Tarth never strayed far now even though Arya had tried to tell her that she didn’t require protection.

 

The journey was a long one and the winter storms made it treacherous. Arya was afraid more than once that the ship was going to break up and sink but they somehow survived. They were met with a welcoming party from the New Castle. It was not so much friendly as curious.

 

Arya let them escort her but she did insist on her own entourage. Brienne would not be parted from her and neither would Aegon. Duck would not be parted from Aegon so he came too. Along with them, Arya chose a dozen intimidating men, a mixture of knights and sellswords from those who had made the journey with her. Nymeria followed closely, much happier now that she was off the ship.

 

They were ushered into the castle and taken into the Merman’s court. Lord Wyman was away, Arya was informed but Ser Wylis greeted her. Arya scanned the faces in the court. She could see all of them were viewing her with great interest but for Arya, no face held much of her interest save Wynafred Manderley. What she saw there made her hunger to get the girl on her own.

 

“Lady Arya,” Ser Wylis began. “We are honoured by your visit. We had heard such ill tidings about you.”

 

“Falsehoods,” Arya said abruptly. “That was not me.”

 

Eyes were trained on Nymeria who was standing back with Aegon and Arya called to her. “Nymeria, to me.”

 

Nymeria immediately loped forward, stopping at her side.

 

“The direwolf,” Ser Wylis said quietly, “Yes, there is no doubt.”

 

Arya submitted to their pleasantries and ate with them in their hall. She noted that the Manderleys were rather fond of food. Ser Wylis partook a large serving of everything and Arya was reminded of what she had heard of Lord Wyman. The man was known for his size.

 

When they finished the food Arya was invited to leave her men to the company of the others in the hall. Wynafred Manderley wished her join her for tea. Arya left Nymeria behind, knowing she would provide protection should anybody threaten her company. Brienne wanted to come with Arya but Arya refused. She followed the Manderley girl through winding passages. When they stopped, Arya took the seat offered to her.

 

“Do you know where we are?” Wynafred asked.

 

Arya looked around. It was a chamber with solid stone walls. It looked to be a prison though Arya sensed she was not a captive. She shook her head.

 

“This is the Wolf’s Den,” the girl explained.

 

Arya began to get a sense of where this was heading.

 

“I enjoyed your letter very much,” Wynafred said, a smile curving her lips. “Of course others were not so pleased. The Lannisters and Freys would have us keep you here.”

 

Arya did not answer.  _I should like to see you try_  she thought.

 

Wynafred lowered her voice. “My father left to attend the marriage. We had to have the Bolton’s see us as loyal while the Lannisters kept Wylis hostage and especially because the Boltons had _you_.”

 

“They did not have me,” Arya said in an annoyed voice.

 

“Yes,” Wynafred replied. “We did not know that. Stannis has taken Winterfell. The Northerners are with him including my father.”

 

Arya was surprised. “Stannis? You support Stannis?”

 

The girl’s expression flickered and Arya knew she was onto something. “You don’t support Stannis.”

 

There was no response but Arya didn’t need one. “You offer support to another. Is it the Lannisters? Aegon? Daenerys?” She frowned. “There isn’t anybody else.” _She is hiding something_. Arya thought for a minute. “The Manderleys are loyal to the Starks,” she said slowly.

 

“We are,” Wynafred said.

 

“I’m the only Stark left,” Arya said, feeling confused. She gasped when she saw the girl’s reaction.

 

“Sansa? You know where Sansa is?” she said eagerly. She thought back to the last time she had seen her sister. She had been so angry with Sansa but she was still her blood. She was still her sister. Arya could still hear her screams from that day at the Great Sept of Baelor.

 

Arya felt deflated when Wynafred responded “No.”

 

“My brothers are dead,” Arya was getting more confused. She breathed in sharply as the girl's face betrayed her secret. “Which one,” she demanded     .

 

Wynafred was beginning to look more and more frightened. “How did you- I can’t... I’m not supposed to...”

 

Arya pressed on. “Robb is dead. Bran and Rickon are dead-“ she stopped suddenly and grabbed the girl’s arm. “You know something, tell me!”

 

“I can’t,” Wynafred said. “We have tried so hard to... My father.” She broke as Arya’s fingers dug into her arm and whispered “ _Rickon.”_

 

Arya was skeptical but she listened as the girl explained how her brother was not dead. She explained how he was being sought out and brought back. “He is our liege lord,” Wynafred said defiantly.

 

Arya was stunned. _I am not the lone wolf any more_

 

“How did you know?” Wynafred asked.  “How can you see? Where have you _been_ all this time?”

 

Arya smiled. “Plotting my vengeance.”

 

“What will you do now?” Wynafred asked in a worried voice. “Stannis has taken Winterfell as his seat.”

 

Arya lifted her chin determinedly. “We march for Winterfell.”

 

 


	16. Chapter 16: Asha

Chapter 16: Asha

Everybody was gathered in the great hall of Winterfell when the horn blew. There was a buzz of voices. The girl who claimed to be Arya Stark had arrived.

 

Asha heard that she had brought fifty men with her. When the girl entered the hall, she walked in front. She had a dozen men (or rather, eleven men and a large woman) following close behind while the rest waited outside, an assortment of knights and sellswords. Her bearing was proud but her face expressionless. She was not what Asha expected. She was dressed in boiled leather with a shirt of ringmail over it. A dagger hung at her hip. As she strode through the hall Asha heard gasps. A number of men at the benches murmured “ _Lyanna.”_ She stopped in front of the dais and scanned the crowded hall before returning her attention to those in the high seats

 

One of the Queen’s men stepped forward. “You stand before His Grace Stannis Baratheon, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.”

 

The girl did not bend the knee.  _Interesting_ , Asha thought.  _She has balls_.

 

“I am Arya Stark, the true Lady of Winterfell.”

 

Asha was riveted. The girl’s face was very still. Stannis furrowed his brow.

 

“You will want food and refreshment for yourself and your men,” he said, obviously choosing to ignore the slight.

 

“Thank you my Lord but I do not,” the girl said. “You are sitting in my father’s seat.”

 

A hush fell in the hall.

 

“Your  _Grace_ ,” Stannis said with narrowed eyes.

 

The girl set her jaw stubbornly. “The Baratheon’s do not rule the North, my lord.”

 

“I am King,” Stannis said, his voice choked with anger.

 

“So you say.”

 

The Queen’s men began to murmur. One knight stepped forward. “His Grace is Azor Ahai reborn, you will show respect.”

 

The girl  _laughed_. “You are not Azor Ahai,” she said loftily.

 

“There is a prophecy-“

 

The girl tilted her head and curled her lip. “I know it.  _When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone._  I do not see your dragons, my Lord.”

 

Asha couldn’t contain herself, she laughed as did a number of the men with the girl and a fair few of the Northerners.  _I like this girl_.

 

“His Grace holds the sword of heroes, Lightbringer,” another Queen’s man announced.

 

The girl bit her lip. “May I see it?”

 

The sword was duly produced. Asha had seen this show before. If the girl was impressed she did not show it. In fact, she was rather dismissive. “A magic trick, a good one but that is all. It means nothing.”

 

Stannis ground his teeth. “You are insolent. Can you prove you are who you say you are?”

 

“Just so. You will see”

 

Stannis looked down on her, his blue eyes blazing. “I told the Lord Commander I would find his sister a suitable match. If you are her you will be able to reclaim-“

 

“I do not  _need_  a match,” the girl retorted angrily. “Winterfell is already my home. You do not rule here and you are most certainly not Azor Ahai. The prince who was promised is Targaryen.  _You_ are not Targaryen”

 

The Queens men began to grumble and Stannis’ patience had clearly worn thin.

 

“Enough! Escort the lady to her chambers.”

 

The Queen’s men stepped forward. Asha saw the girl’s protectors put their hands on the hilt of their swords. They hesitated before drawing, the girl did not. In a sudden movement, Asha saw a flash of steel. The girl held a blade to the man closest to her. “You will not touch me.”

 

Asha was on the edge of her seat. She couldn’t help but laugh again.

                                     

Stannis was not amused. He ground his teeth. “You presume to shed blood in the hall? You are a guest-“

 

Asha’s laughter stopped abruptly. Stannis had blundered. Asha knew it instantly. Everybody else knew it too. Stannis only saw a girl in front of him. He had forgotten where he was. The Northmen began to rise.

 

Asha looked at the girl. The mask was gone and in its place was cold fury. “I am a Stark! Winterfell is  _my_  home.” A wolf started howling. The girl removed her blade and the man she had threatened was wise enough to retreat. The girl took a step towards Stannis. “My father said there must  _always_  be a Stark in Winterfell. You are no Stark.”

 

Stannis was grinding his jaw. His eyes were angry. “You are a woman. You cannot rule here.”

 

“You do not tell me what I can and cannot do. My father was Lord of Winterfell. I am of his blood.  _You_  are the guest here, not me.”

 

Asha felt a chill go down her spine.  _She refused the food, guest right does not apply_. Stannis still didn’t seem to see his danger. This girl was not to be trifled with.

 

Asha looked around the hall. The Northerners were ready to draw swords. They may have marched with Stannis to Winterfell but they were his allies no longer. She could see their eyes trained on the girl, their precious Ned Stark’s child. Whatever proof she had of her identity, it clearly wasn’t needed. This was no imposter.

 

Arya turned to the blue haired young man who had been glued to her side and said something in a different tongue. He nodded and walked to the door of the great hall. When he opened it, a monstrous beast ran in. It ran through the hall, stopping between the girl and Stannis with fangs bared.

 

“Hells,” said Mors Umber “It’s a direwolf.”

 

Asha could see the fear radiating through Stannis’ men.

 

“Why is it snarling like that?” a voice called out. Asha didn’t see who it was.

 

One of the Lady Arya’s companions, a big man piped up. “She likes the girl she does. She don’t take kindly to folks threatening her.”

 

“I am a wolf,” Arya said in a soft voice which seemed to Asha to be more sinister than when she had raised her voice. “The direwolf is more than my family’s sigil. The North has sworn fealty to Winterfell for thousands of years. It is the rightful seat of House Stark and no other. Am I to understand that this has changed?”

 

She turned to face the various lords gathered in the hall and repeated in a louder voice. “Has your allegiance changed?”

 

Asha watched as the Northmen shouted a resounding “No.” She saw Stannis watching powerless as one by one the Northern lords stepped toward the girl Arya Stark and pledged her their swords and their service. When they were done they all rose together.

 

“Winterfell!”

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe the Manderleys turned on the Boltons and Freys at first chance. I have made an assumption (which may be wrong) that Wyman Manderley survived. I kind of like his character. I’ll be a little sorry if I’m wrong and he’s gone. I also think not everybody who was in Winterfell would be gone, Lady Dustin for example. GRRM wouldn’t have done the foreshadowing with her only to kill her off.

Chapter 17

 

Arya made her way around the great hall shadowed closely by an overprotective Brienne, exchanging greetings with the Northern lords. She knew she had made Stannis wroth with her, she could almost feel him seething behind her where he still sat on the dais. He was not her biggest concern though. She had wounded him, she knew that but he did not intend her harm. The same could not be said of others.

 

They all said the right things. They professed their relief that the stories of her demise were unfounded, that she had not been subjected to the Bolton bastard. She in turn thanked them for coming to rescue her (even though she had not needed rescuing). Beneath all the pleasantries though she could see. There were some who could not be trusted. She had learned her lessons well, her eyes were open and she  _saw_. She remembered Syrio’s words,  _look with your_ eyes. Their words were pleasant but words were wind. Their faces told the truth.

 

She had warned Aegon, he was not to reveal himself. He needed to watch, he needed to listen. She wasn’t sure he fully understood but he did as she asked even though she could feel his resentment. She sent him outside with Nymeria to tell the men to bring in the small part of the baggage train which had arrived with them then she kept him with her. White Harbour had sent wayns and carts laden with food however most had lagged behind. They had kept a fast pace which had resulted in the company being split. The rest would arrive later.

 

“There are wagons still coming,” Arya announced. “White Harbour sends its regards.” She nodded in the direction of Wyman Manderley who beamed. “My company did not manage to stay together in the snows but they are not long behind.”

 

The men settled down in the hall to eat but Arya only had a quick bite. She had thought long and hard about what she was going to do on her way to Winterfell and she had a plan. She just hoped Stannis would see sense. She had not intended to make such a scene but when he questioned her right to Winterfell she had gotten angry.  _He should not have treated me like a stupid little girl_. The memory of King Robert still stung her, she still remembered him at the Trident and her first lesson that justice was not always done. Stannis was Robert’s brother and she did not know if he was different, even with what she had heard.

_  
It was not right for him to be in father’s seat._

 

She wondered what her father would have thought then brushed the thought aside. Her father was dead.

 

While she was dwelling on it one of the Northmen came up to her.

 

“You were just in time girl,” he said. “He was talking about burning the godswood.”

 

She thought of the heart tree and how her father used to spend so much time there praying to the old gods and whatever doubts she had about her behaviour fled. Nonetheless, Stannis was now looking at her as though she was something he had scraped off the bottom of his boot. She was going to have to swallow her anger. She approached him.

 

“My lord,” she said, trying to sound calm “I would like to have a word with you in private. I have something I need to tell you and something I need to show you.”

 

“You are ungrateful,” Stannis said abruptly.

 

“I am not,” Arya said defensively. “You should not have tried to deny me Winterfell.”

 

He glowered at her. Arya took a deep breath.  _Calm as still water_.

 

“My Lord,” she began again. “This is most important.”

 

“Very well then,” Stannis stood and his men moved to follow.

 

“Two shields only,” Arya said quickly. “I will only bring two of my people, I ask that you do the same. Make sure they are trustworthy.”

 

Arya put her warm coat on before stepping outside. Brienne and Aegon were with her and they followed her example. Arya was a little worried, Aegon was looking at Stannis as though he would dearly love to run him through with his sword.  _His brother killed Aegon’s father_. He wasn’t stupid though (even though Arya liked telling him he was), he would have to know that if he tried it would be the end of him. If she could have, she would have kept them as far apart from each other as possible but for this, she needed both of them. Brienne looked no less fond of Stannis though Arya did not know the reason why Brienne kept her hand close to her sword hilt.

Stannis’ men hesitated at the door to the great hall but Stannis himself swiftly followed though his expression told her he was rather put out.

 

When she left the hall there were other distractions. She did her best to hide her distress at the state of the castle. It had shocked her when she first saw it. She still grieved now for what the Bolton bastard had done to it but it was not the time to dwell on it. She moved quickly. She headed straight to the oldest part of the castle, near the shell that used to be First Keep. Brienne helped her pull the entrance open. When she rose, Stannis looked wary.

 

“If I wanted you harmed I would have done it already,” Arya said impatiently. ”These are the crypts where the Starks are buried.”

 

Stannis gave her a look which suggested he would have been quite happy if she was buried down there with them. She chose to ignore it.

 

“What I need to show you is down there.”

 

She sent Brienne in front with a lantern, then she prodded Aegon to go next and she followed. Stannis and his men came behind her with a second lantern and she made sure to mind their movements. Arya counted the steps as she went, treading lightly and warning the others to be careful. When they reached the level she told them to stop.

 

“It goes further down,” Aegon said, puzzled.

 

“It does. The older Kings of the North are buried in lower levels. This is the level we want.”

 

The light of the lantern made the shadows eerie but Arya was not afraid. She had been blind, darkness no longer bothered her.

 

The stone kings stared down at them from one side, the dead Lords of Winterfell on the other. Arya began to speak as she walked along, looking at the statues as she went.       

 

“The Starks were Kings of Winter for thousands of years.”

 

Aegon looked at her with confusion, Brienne was taking everything in and Stannis’ men looked unsettled. Stannis himself was irritated.

 

“I know this.”

 

Arya met his gaze “Then I’m hoping you will understand.” She took a few more steps. “I don’t know whether the prophecy is coming to pass but you are right, the time of dragons has come. Daenerys Targaryen is headed for Westeros. She has three.”

 

One of Stannis’ men squeaked. “Three?”

 

“Yes three,” Arya said patiently. “They were brought forward from eggs of stone.” She turned and gave Stannis a pointed look. “Is this making you think of something?”

 

Stannis did not answer but she could see him thinking. She walked a little further then stopped. “Can you pass me the lantern Brienne?”

 

Arya held the lantern over the statue and beckoned to them. “This is the tomb of Torrhen Stark.”

 

“The King who Knelt,” Stannis said

 

“Do you understand what it is I’m trying to tell you?” Arya said pointedly.

 

Stannis looked at the statue and nodded slowly. He began to look old.

 

“You have been misled,” she said softly. “My father spoke of you. I do not think you are stupid.”  _Though you have been acting like it_. “You may stay as a guest in Winterfell if you choose. We share an enemy.”

 

Stannis clenched his fist. “The Lannisters.”

 

“Yes,” Arya replied.

 

He eyed her unhappily “Very well then.”

 

Arya did not know what to make of that. It was not really an answer. Stannis shook his head. “You are as bad as your bastard brother, perhaps even worse. He is not so reckless.”

 

Arya felt something snap inside. “Don’t speak to me of Jon. Jon is dead.”

 

Stannis gave her an exasperated look. “No, perhaps you know less of magic tricks than you think. It appears you Starks are hard to kill.”

 

He spun on his heel to leave the crypts. Arya remained feeling stunned.  _Jon is alive_. She felt a smile spread across her face.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

 

It took everything Arya had to calm herself after Stannis left. She made herself walk through further through the crypts, stopping at the most recent tombs.

 

“My lady?” Brienne said questioningly.

 

Arya knelt, touching the likeness of her father. It was so cold.

 

“Father,” she said “I’m home.”

 

She immediately felt stupid. His bones weren’t even there. She angrily brushed away the tears which were threatening to fall. Aegon knelt beside her and put his arm around her. When she rose, he took a few steps and stopped in front of another tomb. His fingers were stretched out to touch it.

 

“She  _does_  look like you.”

 

Arya sniffled and inspected the tomb of her Aunt Lyanna. She shook her head.

 

“You are more beautiful,” he whispered.

 

Arya gave him a smack in the arm and shot a look at Brienne. The maid of Tarth paid them no notice. Brienne had stopped at the tombs of Arya’s uncle and grandfather. She had a strange expression on her face.

 

“What is it Brienne?”

 

Brienne shot an uncomfortable look at Aegon. “I was just remembering something,” she mumbled.

 

“What,” Arya demanded.

 

Brienne hesitated, still looking at Aegon who was also now prodding her to speak. She looked down at the floor.

 

“I was remembering how they died.”

 

Arya didn’t know much, only that they had died before she was born. “What do you know?”

 

Brienne shifted uncomfortably. “Aerys executed them.”

 

Aegon tensed. “Why? What did they do?”

 

Brienne went a little pale. “I don’t think I should be the one-“

 

“Tell me,” Aegon demanded.

 

Brienne looked down at the floor of the crypt. “Rheagar had taken Lyanna. Brandon Stark went to King’s Landing to challenge Rheagar. Aerys put him and the nobles he was with in prison and summoned their fathers. The fathers were all executed but Lord Rickard requested trial by combat.”

 

“Yes,” Aegon prodded, looking a little pale himself.

 

Brienne lowered her voice. “Aerys said his champion was fire. He burned Lord Rickard and he-he made Brandon watch. Brandon died trying to save his father.”

 

Arya saw Aegon take a firm grip on nearest statue. “They call him the mad king. Lord Connington told me some but I did not know all. Are you certain?”

 

Brienne bristled. “The truth is well known by those who witnessed it.” 

 

Aegon fell silent and brooded on that. It took a little time to coax him out of it. The revelation had rocked him. Arya wondered how much more had been kept from him. He looked despondent well after they returned to the great hall. Arya took Duck aside, telling him to make sure Aegon didn’t do anything stupid. She didn’t linger, instead going back outside and into the godswood. It was warmer there and she was reminded of her childhood.

 

She knelt in front of the heart tree, bowing her head. The old gods had not helped her family but still she knelt.

 

She could have sworn she heard a voice. “Sister.”

 

Her head snapped up but there was nobody there. She stayed in place, remembering. She wasn’t sure how long she was there when the sounds and smells suddenly became sharper. She smelt Aegon coming before she saw him and as she watched, he came into view, Nymeria trotting along beside him.

 

He joined her looking very serious, kneeling beside her in the snow in front of the tree. She could see he had a hundred questions.

 

“This is the place you told me of. Your father’s place.”

 

Arya nodded. They were quiet for a while and she waited for him to speak again. The silence lingered. She looked at him. “Do you realise you have never asked me to kneel for you?”

 

Aegon blinked. He didn’t say anything, he simply laced his fingers in hers.

 

She looked down at their entwined fingers. “They won’t bend the knee.”

 

She felt him tense. She looked at his face. His mouth had tightened and she could see he was very unhappy. “It isn’t you,” she said quickly. “They don’t know you like I do and they have lost so much. They want vengeance but not like that”

 

“You could ask them,” he said. “I saw you in there. You were wonderful.” He looked into her eyes intently. “You should be queen.”

 

“Don’t start that again,” she said quickly.

 

He frowned. “I heard what they say about me in there. Some say pretender, others just spit about Targaryens. My grandfather-“

 

“You are not your grandfather,” Arya said firmly “but they don’t know that.”

 

Aegon’s grip on her hand suddenly tightened. “Are you using me?”

 

Arya’s first reaction was shock, then she was indignant. She pulled her hand from his. “Do you think I would fuck you just to get something from you?  _You_  pursued  _me_.”

 

He immediately looked remorseful and reached for her again. “I’m sorry Arya.” The pain in his violet eyes made her weaken. She let him take her hand again.

 

“You should be, stupid.”

 

He took a deep breath and suddenly looked very vulnerable. “Would you have wanted me if I wasn’t-“

 

She cut him off “I wouldn’t care if you were a bastard or a butcher boy.” She leaned against him and he buried his face in her hair. She paused. “I can’t ask them to bend the knee. Even if I could they won’t do it. They might agree to an alliance.”

 

He gave a heavy sigh. “Torrhen Stark. You didn’t just go down there to show Stannis, did you?”

 

She shook her head.

 

“You’re staying here aren’t you?”

 

Arya pulled back to look at him. She could see by the sadness in his handsome features that he knew. She had dreaded telling him. He smiled a sad, forced smile.

 

“I heard you. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

 

She rushed to explain. “Rickon was only a baby when I left for King’s Landing. He is still only a boy. He won’t even remember father or mother,” she lifted her chin and clenched her jaw. “He won’t know about the Starks. I have to be here for him, I have to teach him-“

 

Aegon quietened her with a kiss. When they separated he traced the line of her cheek with his finger. His expression was strained and unhappy. “I know.”

 

“I have to be the Stark in Winterfell until he gets here,” she said wearily “and I can’t leave until I know Winterfell is safe.”

 

Arya felt as though she was being ripped apart inside. She felt frustration at her unfinished list. She felt burdened by her duty and she didn’t know what she felt about Aegon.  _Everybody leaves me_.

 

Arya took chambers which had been untouched by the fire. It was late when Aegon came to her. She didn’t protest, she just took his hand. She wanted to memorise the way it felt when he kissed her, his lips against her neck and her breasts as his fingers worked to make her wet. He always said her name “ _Arya_ ,” when he spent his seed inside her. She lay, listening to his heartbeat when they were done.

 

“Duck will stay,” he said.

 

She began to protest and he stopped her. “Duck will stay,” he said firmly. “I’ll leave you with some of the men. They’ve been told to listen to you and Duck. They know Winterfell is important.”

 

She clung to him when he went to leave. He held her so tightly she thought he might break a rib. He pressed his lips to her forehead and she could hear his breathing was shallow and uneven.  _If I asked him to stay, he might_  she thought. She didn’t ask.

 

His voice almost broke when he spoke. “Be safe my love.”

 

Then he was gone. She avoided being near him after day broke, watching from afar as the men readied themselves to march back to White Harbour. Nymeria howled when they set off, she followed them for a little before returning to Arya’s side. Arya just kept on repeating the same thing under her breath.  _Calm as still water. Calm as still water._ She would not let them see her cry.

 

 


	19. Chapter 19: Theon

Chapter 19: Theon

 

Theon was alive. He had escaped being burned alive when it had come out that Ramsay was responsible for the burning of Winterfell and the death of the children. He was not relieved. He wished he was dead.

They had spared his life but he was in the dungeons of Winterfell. A few cells away Ramsay Bolton sat. Ramsay might be in a cell but he was not afraid. Theon heard him, calling himself Lord of Winterfell  _and_ of the Dreadfort. Roose had died but Ramsay still lived. Yes, Theon wished he was dead. Death held no fears for Theon anymore. He knew there were worse things in life.

He heard Ramsay’s voice calling him. He wanted his Reek back. Theon was sure he was going to get him too.  _Reek, Reek it rhymes with meek_. He finally knew his name and it was going to be taken again. There was talk Ramsay was to be executed but it had not happened yet. While Ramsay lived, Theon feared.

The guards said Arya was coming back.  _I rescued her_  Theon thought helplessly. He didn’t understand why she was coming back. They called her Arya. Her bastard brother must not have seen her. He would have seen through the farce at once.  _Jeyne, her name is Jeyne it rhymes with pain._

The guards came each day and tossed meagre rations of food to the prisoners. They called Theon turncloak. At first he corrected them. “My name is Theon. You must know your name.” Once Ramsay was installed nearby he stopped saying anything.

It was worse when they got to Ramsay’s cell. They spit in his food before tossing it to him. “Here you are bastard.”

 _No,_ Theon thought.  _No you mustn’t call him that._

Days had come and gone. It was difficult to tell night from day in the dungeons. Theon saw Asha sometimes. Her visits were horrible. She looked at him with pity in her eyes.

Even down in the dungeons he heard Arya’s return. The men were loud, they were joyous at the return of the Stark girl. The guards in the dungeons even smiled sinister smiles after her return, letting the prisoners know that there was a Stark in Winterfell again.  _Jeyne, her name is Jeyne_.

Theon never slept well. Even so, the shadow was almost on him by the time he stirred and saw her. There had been no footsteps to be heard and suddenly she was facing him, looking through the bars. He squinted in the darkness before a torch was produced. The girl was studying him. He could not tell what she was thinking at first, then her mouth twisted a little.

“You were like a brother Theon.”

 _You’re dead_  was his first thought. He looked closely. The girl he had known was long faced, skinny, always dirty.  _Arya Underfoot, Arya Horseface._ This girl was slim, tall but still small, she had filled out. Her hair fell just past her shoulders, it was dark brown. What struck Theon the most was her eyes. They were grey,  _Stark grey_. There was a wildness to her, it was oddly very attractive. Theon tittered.

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you find funny?”

“You’re  _her_ ,” he crowed triumphantly. “Now they finally  _will_  kill me.”

“You  _want_  to die?” she asked incredulously.

Theon nodded, another giggle forcing its way past his throat. “Lord Ramsay can’t hurt me if I’m dead.”

“Valar morghulus,” Arya replied. “You should die.”

The cell door was opened and shut and she was suddenly there with him, a blade in hand. Despite Theon’s wish to die, his hands seemed to come up automatically to shield himself. Arya paused and he saw her looking at them.

“He did this to you?” she asked.

“I... deserved it. I made him angry.”

Her face became expressionless. “What else did he do?”

Theon stammered and stumbled. He did not know how she did it, she had some queer power. He found himself telling her and what he didn’t tell her she seemed to already know. She began to put the knife away.

“No,” he whimpered.

She opened the cell door and grabbed hold of his arm. “We’re going to visit the bastard.”

Theon shrieked, “No, I told you, you mustn’t call him that. He’ll  _hurt_  you.”

Arya  _smiled._  It was one of the most frightening things Theon had seen. It reminded him somehow of Ramsay. It was a smile which spoke of pain to come. _Arya Stark used to argue when we called Jon a bastard._ This girl did not seem to care. Theon stumbled, Arya half dragging him along until they stopped in front of Ramsay’s cell. Ramsay smiled when he saw them, one of his wet lipped smiles. His queerly pale eyes glinted in the poor lighting.

“My Reek has come for a visit.”

Theon was now a mess. He looked from Arya to Ramsay. He began to shiver violently and it had nothing to do with cold.

“Calm yourself Theon,” Arya said tonelessly. “The Bolton bastard can’t hurt you.”

“ _Don’t call him that.”_

Ramsay’s smile was now gone and Theon could see he was angry. Arya did not seem to care.

“He lives because the Lannisters have demanded his return. Most want him dead but a few resist. They will eventually kill him I’m sure but for now they stall.” Arya leaned close to the bars. “Do you know who I am?”

Ramsay looked her up and down and licked his lips. He shook his head.

“Don’t you know your own lady wife?” Arya smirked. “You are supposed to have wedded and bedded me.”

She turned to Theon. “What did she look like?”

Theon hesitated but Arya was insistent. He finally gave a description, ending it with “Jeyne Poole.”

He saw a flash of anger cross her face but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared. Arya cocked her head to the side and bit her lip. Right in front of Theon’s eyes her face  _changed._

“Is that better?” she said sweetly. “Am I more like her now?”

Theon was too horrified to answer. He dumbly nodded.

“Go back to your cell Theon.”

Theon didn’t hesitate.

He sat in the corner of his cell, his knees drawn up to his chest. He heard Ramsay talking, then pleading and finally a scream. All went silent. He kept his eyes closed until he heard the key in the door of his cell. The girl locking it had a face he’d never seen before yet he knew it was the girl from before.

“I thought you were Arya but you’re not are you,” he whispered. “Who are you?”

She smiled. “No one.”

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

 

Arya had retreated not long after the shouting started. Duck found her in the rookery. There was an uproar after Ramsay was found dead. Nobody was really sorry, Arya knew that but questions were asked, fingers were pointed. People wanted answers.

 

 _It wasn’t me, not truly._  

 

The Lords were arguing amongst themselves. Arya knew it would lead nowhere. She had been careful. The guard had not seen her face. He had slept through the entire episode. The stories coming from the dungeons sounded mad. Arya couldn’t help a mirthless smile.  _One less name on the list_  she thought. Her prayer ran through her head.  _Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei, the Freys_.

 

Duck made a  _tsk-tsk_  noise and she looked up to see him shaking his head at her. He looked half disapproving, half impressed but all sad.

 

“You shouldn’t be surprised,” Arya said without feeling.

 

“You make a lot of trouble for such a little lady,” he whispered.

 

Arya shrugged. Duck was the only one who knew her secret, he was the only one who knew it was her. He was the closest she had to a friend in Winterfell, the only one who knew anything of the real Arya. She squinted out into the distance, even though she knew she would see nothing. She started as Duck awkwardly patted her shoulder.

 

“I miss him too.”

 

Arya felt her mouth twitch even though she tried to keep her face still. She glanced around her, listened a moment then gave Duck’s hand a quick squeeze. She didn’t care that it wasn’t  _proper_  but she didn’t want to give anybody cause to try and take him away. The Northerners already misliked the men Aegon had left with her. They didn’t understand. She heard whispers of them being spies, not to be trusted and of them being left to keep her bound to the Targaryen. It made Arya want to snort. She trusted the men Aegon had left as much or more than some of the Northerners and with reason.

 

“I told him before he went to keep doing what I said,” she said softly. “I told him to keep doing  _everything_  I said. I don’t know whether my message will have stopped them from coming for him.”

 

Duck smiled sadly and squeezed her hand back.

 

There was a time when Arya was the ghost of Harrenhal. It was strange how things repeated themselves. She was now the ghost of Winterfell. It was fitting really. Winterfell  _should_  be full of ghosts. She crept around the castle a lot.  _Quiet as a shadow, quick as a snake_. Nobody knew she was there unless she wanted them to know. She saw things and she heard things, things not meant for her. They went quiet when they knew she was there so she hid.

 

The castle was full of people yet with Aegon gone loneliness gnawed at her. She pushed it away by keeping herself occupied. Being Lady of Winterfell took a lot of time. She had to look at books and meet with people and give commands. The watching and listening took up some time. She also went riding, visited the godswood and practised her water dancing with anybody who would face her. It was usually Duck though sometimes Brienne could be convinced. She made sure to do it well away from the great hall. She didn’t want too many eyes on her. They saw her as Eddard Stark’s little girl, they were unlikely to take it well if they really knew what she could do. They would find out but not yet.

 

Stannis marched back to the Wall a couple of days after Aegon had marched. Arya was immensely relieved. She had worked out quickly that Stannis was not loved. He did nothing to change that view yet resented those who held it. He seethed until the moment he left over Arya’s role in losing him the Northern support. Arya knew all about holding grudges.  _Let him be angry_  she thought. She still had her own anger over what he had tried to do to her over Winterfell.  The talk they had in the crypts didn’t change that. She wasn’t sure that he had given up wanting to be King. She still wasn’t sure he had listened to her.

 

Arya had realised that the Northmen had vowed allegiance because they did not like Stannis rather than because they were loyal to her. It was not that they were not (mostly) loyal to the Starks but it came down to a choice. She was after all a woman, and she had yet to fully prove her strength. The talks of marriage had begun again (though not in her hearing yet) and Arya knew she needed to start acting fast.

 

 _I’m just as strong as any of them_  she thought bitterly  _and I’m a better fighter too_.

Arya began to send out ravens. She wrote out replies to the Northern houses who had written her in Storm’s End, telling them of her return to Winterfell. She wrote to Lord Connington, explaining to him what had happened and telling him that Aegon would say why she had to stay. In the letter she said that some of the Northern lords agreed to an alliance against the Lannisters (they had) but that they were not in a position to march right now (they weren’t). She mentioned the doubtful loyalty of some others and avoided saying anything at all about the Manderlys. She finished the letter by urging him to stop Aegon from doing anything reckless.

 

The last letter she wrote was one to Jon. She still wasn’t sure he had received the first one. She agonised over the wording, in the end settling for explaining what had happened and saying she hoped she could see him. She wasn’t sure when she could get away though or if he might be able to visit.

 

She felt frustration as she sealed it. The Wall was so close and yet she still couldn’t get to him. She angrily brushed tears from her eyes. She took the letters to the maester, watching him send them off. He was quite offended at her obvious lack of trust but Arya would rather he was offended than be worrying that he had read her letters or even worse, not sent them at all.

Her first opportunity with the men came when she came face to face with Wyman Manderly just after breaking her fast the day Stannis had marched. She had talked with all the lords in the great hall numerous times. They had joined her on the dais, called her to the benches but the conversations had not been private. Focus for now was on recovery, not strategy and the only useful talk had been about repairing Winterfell. There were growing mutterings of the need for vengeance but they were mutterings only. The men needed time before another march.

 

“Will you pray with me my Lord?” she asked sweetly.

 

Manderly studied her and she could see a shrewd look in his eye. He nodded and followed her. It wasn’t long before he was puffing heavily but he made it to the godswood. Arya knelt before the tree. She looked up to see him looking rather concerned and realised that if he got down, there was a chance he might not get back up.

 

“You need not kneel my Lord.”

 

He nodded and she saw him looking around nervously. “There are ears everywhere,” he whispered.

 

“Nobody will hear us here,” she assured him. “If anybody comes I will know.”

 

He gave her a questioning look and she whistled. Nymeria loped into view and Arya ran her hands through the wolf’s shaggy coat briefly before sending her away again.

 

“Not all can be trusted,” he said.

 

“I know,” Arya replied.

 

Manderley looked startled. They stared at each other a short while.

 

“I am surprised they let you go,” he observed.

 

Arya shot him a look of disdain. “Nobody  _makes_  me do anything. I stayed as long as I wanted and left when I needed to.”

 

“You understand many think you at best a pawn and at worst a hostage still.”

 

Arya snorted. “That just shows that they do not know Aegon Targaryen and they most certainly do not know me. They think that because I am a woman I am weak and stupid.”

 

Lord Wyman smiled.

 

“You did not marry,” he observed.

 

“I did not want to,” Arya retorted.

 

Lord Wyman raised an eyebrow. “They tried?”

 

Arya allowed a small smile. “I would not give my consent and Aegon refused to force a match on me.” She changed subjects abruptly. “I know about Rickon.”

 

Lord Wyman stopped smiling.

 

“You must not be angry with Wynafryd. She did her best to keep your plans secret.”

 

“Who else knows,” he asked sharply.

 

“Only three people I trust,” Arya said firmly. “You will have him brought here. His place is with me. His place is at Winterfell. We will avenge our family together.”

 

Manderly gave her a hard look. “I had to pledge support to Stannis to get Rickon out of Skagos. I will be expected to follow through when the boy is delivered.”

 

“Stannis  _burns_  people,” Arya protested.

 

Manderley sighed. “He does.”

 

“Aerys burned people too in case you forgot,” Arya’s mouth twisted. “This is stupid.” She looked down at her hands, wanting to curse. “At least you aren’t supporting the Lannisters. I suspect some in the hall might be.”

 

Lord Wyman sighed again. “I heard your letter. Are you sure you have the stomach for this?”

 

Arya smiled grimly and made a split second decision to trust this man, if only a little. She knew his secrets, she would tell him one of her own. “If you doubt me, ask Lord Ramsay if he thinks I have the stomach for vengeance.”

 

Manderley laughed so hard his chins shook. “The North remembers indeed.”

 

Arya met his gaze and for the first time since being in Winterfell and speaking with the men she saw real respect. It was a start.

 


	21. Chapter 21: Brienne

Chapter 21: Brienne

 

Brienne felt out of place at first in Winterfell. She was not liked though that was not unusual for her. She tried to ignore the laughter and the mutters of Brienne the Beauty. She was not there for them, she was there for the Lady Arya. She had to remind herself of that when confronted with Stannis Baratheon.

 

_He will face justice for Renly._

 

Brienne had wanted to confront him about it but in a castle filled with men of questionable loyalty she hesitated. Lady Catelyn vowed not to stand in her way but Lady Arya made no such promise and after watching Lady Arya and Stannis exchange promises not to harm one another she knew that her justice would put the one she swore to serve in danger.

 

_He will answer for it. Once I fulfil my vow I shall make him answer for it._

 

Arya Stark did not need Brienne in the same way her mother had. Brienne was allowed to be her shield for parts of the day but she now had a fair suspicion that it was some sort of show. Lady Arya was not at all the delicate girl people might suspect from her small figure and their ideas of what a highborn lady should be. She had proven that to Brienne on more than one occasion. There were times Brienne had wondered if Arya even wanted her there. She was so closed off, so distant and at times so very angry. Then there were the times when there were glimpses of warmth, times when Brienne would see the girl who had put her hand on Brienne’s arm and told her not to be upset when she lost Oathkeeper.

 

Yes, Arya Stark did not need Brienne in the same way her mother had but Brienne had come to realise with time that she  _was_  needed. There was still a lot Brienne didn’t know about the young woman she served. She had seen her closeted away with Ser Rolly and her prince, whispering about her past. She had seen the shared looks. For all that, Brienne knew this secretive young woman trusted  _her_  too.

 

Brienne couldn’t help being flattered to be included as part of the Lady of Winterfell’s inner circle. It was a strange feeling to be valued for something other than her swordsmanship. Arya told her things, things she did not tell the high lords in the great hall and she  _trusted_  Brienne to keep those secrets.

 

It had been a shock to find out that Catelyn Stark’s younger sons were still alive. Brienne still remembered Lady Catelyn’s grief the day she had heard the news of their deaths. She had told Arya of it. The girl had barely shown a flicker of emotion at the tale.

 

Brienne had found the lack of expression unsettling at first, she still did but she was learning to read the girl better. Arya was better than anybody Brienne had ever known at hiding her feelings but with the right provocation they could be seen. Subtle things gave away that she was angry, or that she was amused. It could be seen in the girl’s grey eyes if Brienne looked close enough.

 

Her smiles had almost dried up when her prince left. Her laughter was gone. Brienne tried not to judge her. She had tried to be careful at first when she had let out her disapproval, she still remembered how badly that had gone.

 

“My lady, is it wise to be spending so much time with the prince?” she had so stupidly asked, thinking that she was being delicate.

                                                                                                  

Arya’s features had clouded with anger. “Nobody really cares if I’m a maiden Brienne. As long as they think I’m heir to Winterfell I could fuck a dozen men and it would make no matter.”

 

Brienne had gaped at her, too shocked to respond further. With time she had realised that there was more between the two of them than a prince taking advantage of a vulnerable girl. Brienne had been on guard duty the night before Aegon had left. She tried to look as though she had not seen him enter her chambers. When he emerged, he looked a broken man.

 

The Lady Arya was far different than Brienne could have imagined before she met her. She remembered Lady Catelyn telling her that Sansa had been almost born a lady. The same could not be said for Arya. She was no maiden, she had not appeared really interested in being a lady until she had discovered her brother was alive and duty had called her. Brienne could see that Arya wanted to shun her title. She was bold, she struggled with courtesy and she refused to dress the part.

 

Arya Stark did not look like the Lady Catelyn but there  _were_  times when Brienne could see her mother in her. She had the same strength and when she called on that strength she was most fearsome to behold (as Stannis had learned). She also had a certain dignity which Brienne had seen in Catelyn Stark. Other times, however, Arya was filled with such darkness that it frightened Brienne.

 

Brienne had agonised over whether to tell Arya about her mother. She had the unsettling feeling Arya knew Brienne held a secret. The girl seemed to see into people. Brienne had almost confessed the truth more than once but in the end couldn’t. Arya may show little emotion but beneath the masked exterior there was a lot of rage and Brienne was ashamed to say she was too afraid of the girl’s reaction

 

The Lady Arya had claimed Winterfell, she had claimed the allegiance of the Stark bannermen but keeping them (or keeping them happy) was going to be the greater challenge. When Brienne met her as she emerged from her chambers that morning Arya had an air of determination about her.

 

“I have spoken with Manderly,” she said “but the others will be harder.”

 

Brienne nodded. As they walked, Ser Rolly joined them, he and Brienne flanking the young woman. Brienne was interested to see the knight carrying a bundle in his arms. It was a long object wrapped in cloth and Brienne had a sneaking suspicion she knew what it was.

 

“They will not respect me because I am a woman,” Arya muttered. “I need to show them.”

 

They walked into the great hall and sat at the dias to break their fast. Brienne saw people look curiously at the bundle Arya had left sitting on the table in front of her but she made no move to uncover it. When the meal was finished, Arya stood and cleared her throat, asking for the attention of those in the hall.

 

“It is time to deal with the prisoners.”

 

Stannis and the Northerners had taken prisoners in the battle with the Boltons. There had been a rather heated exchange before Stannis left. He had considered them his prisoners. Arya had claimed they were Winterfell’s prisoners. By the end of the argument it had been decided in Arya’s favour. It was for the North to decide their punishment. The Bolton’s had betrayed the North, the North would dispense justice.

 

Her announcement was met with murmurs of approval. The first of them were brought up from the dungeons. The Lady Arya sat in the high chair reserved for the Lord of Winterfell, ready to make judgement. She was dressed the part in her boiled leather over woollen pants and grey boots. Her dirk was in its place at her hip. High lords sat to her right and left. Brienne had taken a guard position opposite Ser Rolly at the head of a line of armed men. She could see that for all the thirst for vengeance, people were eyeing Arya doubtfully.  _They do not think she can do this_.

 

The first man brought forward was one of the Bolton’s men. He knelt, looking nervous. Lady Dustin spoke first, demanding his name and title. Brienne watched though her eyes were trained more on Arya than on any other. The girl had her mask on.

 

The other lords asked other questions, questions about the battle for Winterfell and the man’s role in it and questions about the imposter posing as Arya. Brienne noted that Arya stayed silent and her mask did not shift. After a few minutes she raised her hand to get attention.

 

“I have a question for this man.”

 

The prisoner bowed his head, mumbling pleasantries to the Lady Arya.

 

Arya looked down at the prisoner and Brienne saw something which chilled her in the girl’s eyes.

 

“Were you at the Red Wedding?”

 

A hush fell in the hall. The prisoner began to tremble and Brienne saw fear in his eyes. He began to babble a negative. Some of the knights and Lords began to mutter. Arya called for silence.

 

“I will know if you are lying,” she said in an icy tone. “I will ask once more. Were you there?”

 

Brienne saw a dark stain spreading in the man’s breeches. His bladder had let go. He began to plead mercy.

 

The Northmen were on their feet. An uproar began. They stepped forward to seize him. Brienne saw Arya jump to her feet, commanding them to stop. They froze and looked at her. Brienne could see the challenge in their eyes. They wanted their vengeance.

 

“My lady,” one of the Wulls said “You cannot expect us to spare him.”

 

“I did not say that,” Arya replied. “I only ask that I pass judgement.”

 

The murmuring became louder and the anger in the room began to increase. It took longer to silence them this time. Brienne heard more than one muttering about women and questioning Arya being involved.

 

Arya stood firm. “My father was Lord of Winterfell, he passed judgement and carried it out. My brother Robb was Lord of Winterfell after him and he did the same. I stand in their place. It is only right that I do the same.” She gestured to Ser Rolly and he passed her the bundle from earlier. Arya unwrapped it and the hall erupted in gasps and exclamations as the sword was revealed.

 

“This used to be Ice,” Arya announced loudly. “My father used this sword to pass sentence. The Lannisters took it when they murdered him and had it reforged.” Her face twisted in fury. “They gave it a pommel of lion’s heads and rubies, I had it reworked in Storm’s End.”

 

She held it out so that everybody could see the black and red ripples in the Valyrian steel. The pommel now had a wolf’s head, fangs bared. The stones which formed the eyes looked like chips of ice.

 

“I sentence this man to die and it will be by my hand,” she declared. “Bring him and let the others watch.”

 

Arya strode forward. The expressions in the hall ranged from doubt to horror to fascination and some of respect. The prisoner began to weep as he was pulled along. When they made it outside and a block was found, the crowd had gathered around. Brienne was feeling rather ill and she could see some others looking concerned too.

 

“You don’t have to do it yourself girl,” one of the Norreys said.

 

“Yes I do,” Arya said firmly. She turned to face the people. “I was at the Twins. Nobody saw me but I was there.” Her expression darkened. “I heard Robb’s bannermen in the feast tents screaming, I saw them dying. I know many of you doubt I can do this. You do not know me but know this. You all want vengeance? Nobody wants it more than I do and  _nothing_  will stop me. I may not have commanded armies but you will find I am  _not_  weak.”

 

Brienne moved to stand by her as she told the man to say his last words. It was an unintelligible string of excuses and pleading. Brienne looked at the girl standing over him. She did not flinch. Lady Arya might have lacked the strength at arms to cleanly behead a man but it was immediately clear to Brienne that she did not lack in skill at killing. When it was done Arya turned to her audience, appearing unconcerned at the spray of blood which had struck her as she carried out the sentence.

 

“It is done,” she said calmly. “He will not be the only one. Who is next?”

 

The men gathered eagerly around her, talking to her as they moved on as though what had just happened was nothing out of the ordinary. The young woman had proven herself in this at least and for now she had cemented her place. She had shown her strength.

 

Arya seemed tireless as the day wore on. Where others came and went, the girl remained. She would not stop. It would take more than one day to finish questioning all the prisoners but the Stark girl was relentless in her pursuit of those who had wronged her family. She was the last to stop for the day.

Brienne watched her as she escorted her back to her chambers, taking in Arya’s demeanour as she left the hall. She was no less determined than she had been at the start of the day, even though on close inspection fatigue was clearly trying to set in. When Brienne suggested she take a rest on the morrow, Arya gave her a look which sent a shiver down her spine. The answer was a clear “No.”

 

Brienne began to get the uncomfortable feeling that Arya Stark did not just have some of Catelyn Stark in her, she also had some of Lady Stoneheart too.

 


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

 

Dealing with the prisoners gave Arya a distraction. It also eased some of the tension in Winterfell. The men were becoming restless. Work on the repairs was not enough to keep them occupied and not nearly enough to prevent them questioning her ability to rule. A taste of vengeance was what everybody needed. It had also shown them she was not as weak as many of them thought.

 

She alternated between doubting herself and telling herself  _I can do this_. She didn’t  _want_  to be Lady of Winterfell but she did  _need_  to be. She needed Winterfell to be secure, she wanted there to be no doubt it was the seat of House Stark and that House Stark was strong before Rickon arrived. She wasn’t going to sit idle and wait while others tried to grab power.

 

 _Winterfell is my home. I must show them I can lead as father and Robb once did._  

 

When she entered the great hall now she could see that opinions were split. There were those whose loyalty had become firm. They sought her out and the way they spoke to her seemed no different to what she remembered when her father used to speak with his bannermen. They did not try to shield her. They told her truths and advised her on the day to day running of the castle, their provisions and their hope and plans for the future of the war.

 

There were, however, as many more who still doubted her ability. They wanted a  _Lord_  of Winterfell. They wanted a man to rule.  _I am as strong as any of them and I will prove it_  she thought to herself.

 

They did not give her long. The subject of marriage was raised far quicker than she would have liked (but far later than many others would have preferred, going by the whispers she had overheard). One of the Ryswells raised it first.

 

“If you marry, my Lady, it will only strengthen your claim. Heirs will make Winterfell more secure.”

 

Arya bristled inwardly, making an effort not to show it.  _I am not a bloody broodmare_.

 

“I will not marry,” she said calmly.

 

She heard the mutterings in the hall. Even her supporters weren’t happy.

 

“I want justice for my family,” she explained, trying to sound patient. “I will not marry until the Lannisters have been removed from power.”

 

If she thought that was going to settle the matter and give her time, she was wrong. She heard the protests increase. She distinctly heard more than one mention of  _the last Stark_. She sighed. Keeping Rickon secret wasn’t helping.

 

“They tried over and over to make me a match in Storm’s End and I refused,” she said, unable to keep irritation from her voice. “I feel no different now.”

 

That made things worse. The muttering gave way to shouts. She heard mention of Aegon’s name and she flushed.

 

“Do not blame him, my lords,” she said sharply. “It was his Hand who suggested the matches. The reason I am not married is because Aegon Targaryen said I must agree and I would not.”

 

“This is different,” one of the knights protested.  “If you marry a Northerner...”

 

Arya stood. Nymeria loped to her side, growling as she sensed Arya’s frustration and the hall fell silent. The direwolf tended to have that effect and Arya used it when she had to.

 

“I will make an agreement then,” she said slowly. “Whoever can beat me in combat will win my hand.”

 

The hall erupted in laughter. The only person whose smile Arya did enjoy was Brienne’s. Arya had formed the idea from the Lady of Tarth. Brienne had confided to Arya that she had used a similar tactic.

 

There was an immediate line up of contenders. Arya collected her sword from Duck and moved out into the training yard. She saw concern on a lot of faces and her first opponent, a knight (to the displeasure of the higher born lords who saw him as no fit match for Lady of Winterfell) was quick to point out that he didn’t want to harm his betrothed. She heard Duck snort and shot him a genuine smile.

 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” she said sweetly.

 

When she was done she saw astonishment on the faces in the crowd. By the time she had defeated four hopefuls she had supporters in the crowd cheering her on. When she reached half a dozen the number of contenders began to dwindle. The next one tried to cheat and was rewarded with Nymeria almost taking his hand off by the wrist to make him drop the dagger he had grabbed when disarmed. A halt was called to proceedings.

 

“You would have given your brother a decent fight,” Mors Umber called out cheerfully.

 

Arya frowned. She would have beaten Robb, she was sure of that but the thought made her sad. Lord Manderly was eyeing her in his shrewd way.

 

“Where  _did_  the Lady Stark learn to fight?”

 

She raised her chin defiantly. “I have spent the last five years learning to survive. My father organised a Braavosi instructor for me in King’s Landing. When I fled, I spent time at Harrenhal with Roose Bolton,” she smiled grimly. “His Lordship did not recognise me. He made me his cupbearer and I helped with his leechings.”

 

She heard a number of the men laugh but she ignored them. It was not something she remembered with amusement.

 

“When I escaped there I was taken by outlaws. After that I was taken by the Hound-.”

 

There was a collective gasp and shouting. She heard some horrified talk of what the Hound would have done to her and was quick to interject.

 

“He did not harm me,” she said firmly, more to defend herself than out of any regard for the Hound. She scowled, remembering. “He wanted to ransom me but he did teach me some things.  _He_  was the one who took me to the Twins to deliver me to my mother and Robb. When the killing began he stopped me from entering the castle.”

 

The memory was still a bitter one for Arya, the failure to save her mother. The men did not seem to see it that way judging from what she heard of their lowered voices. She spoke over them, finishing her story.

 

“After he got injured I escaped across the Narrow Sea. I survived and it made me stronger.” She fixed her gaze on them. “I did not come back here to marry and have children. I came back because Winterfell needs a Stark.”

 

From that day on, sparring in the yard with the men became a part of her routine. She had not known how they would take it, knowing that she could fight but it had worked in her favour. Some still frowned but more looked on her almost proudly.

 

As the days passed and changed into weeks, people came and went from Winterfell. Provisions were brought in and parts of the castle began to look less broken. The talks of marriage did not stop but they had lessened. She smiled when she was creeping around, quiet as a shadow and overheard an exchange.

 

“Our little liege lady is most fiercesome.”

 

“She needs to be.”

 

“Her father would have been proud.”

 

She didn’t get a chance to dwell on it. The horn blew. She knew who it was well before the lookout announced anything. Nymeria had run out to greet them and Arya saw through her eyes. She could scarcely breathe as she strode out to welcome them. Rickon had arrived.

 

Arya did not know what to expect. What she saw made her freeze.

 

He was not alone but she had seen that. What she had not expected was the reaction from those already in Winterfell. His company was not well received. The men from the hall had drawn swords.

 


	23. Chapter 23: Jon

Chapter 23: Jon

Jon Snow had read the letter over and over.  _My little sister_. He had smiled when he read it, one of the few smiles he allowed himself these days. He really didn’t have much to smile about. He picked it up and read it again. She was safe. She hadn’t married Ramsay Snow at all.

 

The second part of her letter had given him pause.  _I am under the protection of His Grace Aegon Targaryen_. His first thought was that she was a hostage as Sansa had been in King’s Landing but the rest of the letter didn’t fit with that. The rest of the letter was pure Arya and clearly not written under duress.

 

It did not stop him questioning the Targaryen’s motives. He wished he had read the letter sooner. He would not have been so quick to want to march south. He might not have been attacked by his brothers though Melisandre was quick to say that she had seen it in her flames. It might have happened anyway.

 

The red woman was never far from him these days. She had revived him after the attack, restoring his life. Ever since that time she had given him little rest. The little time he did not spend trying to keep peace between the free folk and the Night’s Watch was spent trying to avoid her talk of his King’s blood. No matter how many times he tried to brush it off, to brush  _her_ off, telling her the Starks were Kings in the North, descendants of the first men, she would not let it rest. Her red eyes followed him, her desire to perform some fell sorcery using him unrelenting.  _A sword without a hilt_  he reminded himself.

 

“ _Corn,”_  cried Mormont’s raven. “ _Corn, Corn, Corn._ ” It flew at his hand and he swatted it away.

 

“I’ve already fed you.”

 

He picked up a second piece of parchment, also in Arya’s hand. This one did not make him smile. It declared war. His blood had run cold reading it. He felt a certain sense of pride that she had been bold enough to send it out but that was overwhelmed by the fear he felt at what she might be bringing down upon herself. House Lannister would not have taken it well. The Boltons and Freys would not have taken it any better. Jon could only hope this Targaryen had the strength to match them.

 

Ghost stirred at his side and he remembered that Arya had Nymeria with her.  _I hope Nymeria is to her as Ghost is to me_. He so badly wanted to see her.  _I miss you_. Those three words had almost undone him. He wanted to see her face and muss her hair. He wondered what she looked like now. He supposed she would be almost a woman grown. It was hard to imagine.

 

He rose to leave his chambers. As he stepped outside, he could see that the light was holding out. There had been a lot of dark days now that winter had begun, he knew that there would be a lot more to come. He was thankful for the current reprieve. It was cold at the Wall but it wasn’t the sort of cold that he feared. They had not seen the Others yet.  _Our fortune cannot keep holding out_.

 

He could still feel the tension. The free folk trusted the black brothers even less now that they had seen them turn on one of their own. Those who had attacked him had been killed in the aftermath. Jon was amazed there was anything left of the Night’s Watch. It was a daily battle to keep the peace. The Wall  _was_  better defended now though. Many of the castles were in various stages of restoration. Building had been slow but it was progressing.

 

He had been relieved when he heard Stannis and the men with him had defeated the Bolton forces and taken Winterfell. That relief had been mixed with apprehension over what would be done with his sister. By the time the girl had arrived at Castle Black, he had seen Arya’s letter and knew it wasn’t her.  _Jeyne Poole_. He had recognised her. She had broken down into sobbing when she saw him.

 

“They said I had to be Arya.”

 

He would have been angrier at the ruse, angrier at the girl if he hadn’t seen the state of the poor wretch. Instead he just felt old and tired. He reserved his anger for the Boltons and Lannisters. His sword hand opened and closed. He had to keep reminding himself  _The Night’s Watch takes no part_ every time he thought of them.

 

He had plenty of duties to keep him busy and the days passed quickly. When the horn blew and he was told the arrivals had come from the South he was surprised. He was even more surprised when he saw it was Stannis. Jon took a knee.

 

“Your Grace, we did not expect you.”

 

Stannis glowered at him, his jaw working.  _How have I displeased him this time?_

“I see one of Lord Eddard’s children knows how to bend the knee.”

 

 _Arya, what have you done?_ He had just received another letter from her, this time from Winterfell. It said she had claimed Winterfell but was sketchy on details. The words seemed hesitant and when he read that she hoped to see him he felt his stomach clench. He could not leave, no matter how much he wanted to see her. He was trying to work out how to word a reply. He had written to her at Storm’s End but his raven had missed her. Her arrival at Winterfell had come out of the blue.

 

“I am sorry my sister has offended you Sire.”

 

“Offended me?” Stannis ground his teeth. “She spat on me, she scolded me in front of the men and the men who swore service turned on me.”

 

 _Arya scolded Stannis Baratheon?_  His little sister had often spoken out of turn but usually she needed some sort of provocation.  _This is not all my sister’s doing_   _I’ll wager_. Stannis was harsh. Jon could imagine it would be difficult for him to make friends let alone keep them.

 

Stannis strode off to find Melisandre and Jon continued on with his day, organising accommodations for the new arrivals. It was not long before the tale of what had happened spread around Castle Black. Stannis’ men did not keep it to themselves long.

 

He could scarcely believe it. He hadn’t liked the thought of Stannis giving his sister to one of his men. He hadn’t imagined for one moment that Arya would take it so badly that she would stage a rebellion. He remembered her letters. The second had been so angry and the first...  _I practice my needlework whenever I can_. His sister certainly wasn’t a little girl anymore.

 

Later in the day he heard even stranger tales. Stannis had been heard arguing loudly with Melisandre and when Jon saw the red woman afterwards she looked shaken. There had been talk of dragons, of misleading prophecies. He heard whispers. Arya had declared Stannis was not Azor Ahai but then Jon had already suspected that. Arya had  _known_ things. The men were speaking of her in hushed tones.

 

Jon did not see the red woman for some time after that. She was closeted away, staring into her flames. He thought on the strange stories he was hearing. The talk was of the ferocious wolf girl who drew a knife out seemingly from nowhere, a girl who spoke more than one tongue and knew of prophecies and dragons.  _My little sister_. It didn’t even sound like the same person.  _What happened to her?_  He felt exhausted as he climbed the steps to his chamber. When he arrived there, he sat down and took out parchment and ink and began to write.

 


	24. Chapter 24: Sansa/Alayne

Chapter 24: Sansa/Alayne

 

Alayne’s life had become much less lonely now that she was staying at the Gates of the Moon. There were people closer to her own age and the company was lively in the castle. It did make Alayne nervous though. She always had to guard her tongue.

 

Little Robert Arryn grew frailer each day. Both the maester and Petyr were certain he would not live much longer. He demanded much of Alayne’s time. Sweetrobin would not listen to anybody but Alayne. Petyr intimidated him but that only made him shake these days so Alayne shouldered the burden.

 

When she wasn’t tending to Sweetrobin, she spent her time with Myranda Royce. There were others her age here too, the squires Grafton and Lynderly and of course Harrold Hardyng. Petyr had been right, winning Harry’s affections had not been difficult. The larger problem now was holding him back. He saw her as a bastard and as such, he thought he could bed her now rather than later. His advances made her blush.

 

Myranda, or should she say Randa (the woman was quite insistent she be called Randa) was a constant source of gossip and news. Petyr told Alayne some things but Randa held nothing back. So it was one day when Alayne was breaking her fast and Randa burst in a wide grin on her face.

 

“Oh Alayne, I have something most delicious to share with you.” Randa’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Lady Arya Stark has sent out a letter declaring war on the Lannisters, Boltons and Freys.”

 

Alayne dropped the cup she was holding and it shattered on the floor. Randa laughed loudly.

 

“I did warn you,” she looked at Alayne shrewdly. “You have turned a rather alarming colour Alayne.”

 

“Arya Stark is dead,” she blurted in shock.

 

Randa grinned. “For a dead girl she is stirring up a great deal of trouble. She says the Bolton’s have an imposter in Winterfell, she says Winterfell is hers with her sister missing and she has declared Aegon Targaryen the King of Westeros.”

 

 _Arya is alive_. Alayne tried to imagine her sister as Myranda was describing her. Arya had always had a bold tongue. It had often gotten her into trouble. She thought wistfully of Arya as a child. They hadn’t gotten along. They were so different yet Alayne would give almost anything to see her again.  _She was so angry with me last time we spoke_.  _I was so angry with her too._

 

“I wonder if she’s fucking him?” Randa mused.

 

Alayne felt the blood run from her face “Who?”

 

“Arya,” Randa said patiently. “They say he is very beautiful. I think I would.” She smiled a cheeky little smile. “In fact I  _know_  I would.”

 

Alayne blushed at the thought. “She wouldn’t though.” She thought of Joffrey. Arya had hated him. She had no interest in princes. She wasn’t interested in knights and boys, she only wanted to run and ride and fight with swords. Besides, Arya hadn’t been pretty. Alayne couldn’t imagine it.  _It couldn’t be true_.

 

“Why not?” Randa’s voice cut through. “Not everybody can say they fucked a King,” she smirked. “It does run in the family too. Her Aunt and his father though that was a sadder story...”

 

Myranda Royce was looking at her in that way which made Alayne very uncomfortable. She forced a laugh she didn’t feel and donned a smile that would have made Petyr proud. She didn’t see him until after dinner. She sought him out in his solar.

 

“Alayne,” he smiled warmly. “Come give me a kiss.”

 

Alayne did as he bid. “I’m sorry to intrude father.”

 

“I’ve told you before sweetling, you are never an intrusion.”

 

Alayne hesitated. Petyr did not always invite questions and at times he did not take it well when she asked. He clearly knew why she was there though. He raised an eyebrow.

 

“Myranda Royce has been gossiping again.”

 

“Is it true?” she almost held her breath, frightened of the answer.

 

“It appears so sweetling.” He laughed. “Cersei is rather wroth as you can imagine. If your sweet sister manages to cause an uprising in the North against the Boltons, it is likely to speed the end of Cersei.”

 

“Good,” Alayne responded, unable to hide her pleasure.

 

“I invited the Lady Arya to visit us,” Peytr said smoothly.

 

Alayne’s throat constricted.  _Arya cannot come here_.

 

He chuckled. “Her refusal was rather discourteous.”

 

She was confused. He did not look unhappy. “You did not expect her to accept,” she realised.

 

“That’s my clever girl,” he took her hand. “I had to ask you see.”

 

Alayne did see. Peytr had been teaching her. She was learning the game. She wanted to ask more but Peytr had picked up his letters and begun to read, signifying the end of their conversation. She gave him another kiss as she left, as was expected of her.

 

“Goodnight father.”

 

Alayne’s smile was real over the next weeks. She had tried to be careful but she had managed to get Myranda to show her the letter. It had not been difficult. The woman did love to gossip and it was, in Randa’s words, “too juicy not to share.”

 

It had frightened Alayne but at the same time her heart pounded in excitement.  _She sounds so angry_. She could almost hear Arya in it though it did sound so... grown up. She had to remind herself that her sister was a woman grown now. Alayne dearly wanted to keep the letter.  _Avenge our family sister_  she thought. She prayed that it would not get Arya killed.

 

Harry took her smiles as encouragement, pulling her into his arms when nobody was looking. He would kiss her until she was breathless.

 

“I like to see you happy my love,” he murmured in her ear, nibbling on her earlobe and making her giggle and tell him to stop.

 

She had resisted him at first, her memories of Joffrey being rather too fresh. She was also married but Petyr had insisted that she would be freed. Harry was her betrothed and she needed to keep him interested. He  _was_  very charming and handsome and a knight as well. There was just the one problem. His eye wandered.  _Father had a bastard too_  she reminded herself. She remembered Peytr’s words. It was a great match for Alayne Stone and a good match for Sansa Stark too. She was also reminded of something he said much earlier. “Life is not a song, sweetling.”

 

Harry’s hand had slipped to her thigh, lifting her skirts and she extracted herself from his grasp. “Not yet, my love”

 

Disappointment marred his features but she forced a smile and offered him her hand and he kissed it.

 

“You must not tease me so Alayne.”

 

Alayne blushed. “I-I do not mean to.”

 

She would not have allowed him as much as she had but Petyr insisted it was necessary. Sometimes, when she wasn’t aware he was there, she had seen him watching her and Harry. The look on his face frightened her but it would soon disappear.

 

The next news she heard of her sister caused her smile to drop. Petyr had a dark expression at dinner though he hid it with japes and laughter. When they were alone later on, she spoke to him of it.

 

“Is something troubling you father?”

 

“Your sweet sister has taken Winterfell. She rode in by stealth and snatched it from Stannis Baratheon after he and the Northerners defeated the Boltons. The North has rallied to swear service to her.”

 

Alayne was confused. “Isn’t that good? You said it would help end Cersei-“

 

“It is not good,” he corrected. “If your sister has claimed Winterfell, swooping in like a heroine from a song, she will displace you dear daughter.”

 

Alayne did not know what to say. “Arya didn’t want to be a lady,” she said.

 

Petyr laughed a humourless laugh. “It appears she still doesn’t. I have eyes on her. At first I thought she was a hostage at Storm’s end, then it appeared that they would arrange a marriage, possibly to the Targaryen. Either of those things would have helped us. People have not forgotten your aunt.”

 

Alayne was reeling. “A marriage?” She remembered Myranda’s talk about Arya and the prince.

 

“There are rumours sweetling but it appears Connington and your sister are shrewder than I first thought. I never anticipated they would let her go let alone unmarried. On top of that Ramsay Bolton is dead sooner than I had hoped.” He frowned. “I was sure they would ask the North to bend the knee and provoke an uprising against your sister but they haven’t. With each day more flock to Arya’s side.” His voice became cold. “They call her the warrior maiden. She is Lady of Winterfell but in truth the power she wields is more befitting of Lord of Winterfell.”

 

He was angry. Alayne could see he was angry. She could not quite understand why.

 

“But,” Alayne faltered “the letter. She wants to avenge our family.”

 

Peytr turned his gaze on Alayne and what she saw there made her blood run cold. It was Littlefinger, not Petyr. “She is not your friend. She is not your family. She is a piece who has forgotten her place.”

 


	25. Chapter 25: Davos

Chapter 25: Davos

Davos Seaworth had not expected a warm welcome. It had not been easy to convince the boy Rickon Stark to leave Skagos. He was wild, his direwolf was wilder and the Skagosi had accepted him into their company. The boy was not interested in being a Lord. In the end, it was the wildling woman with him, Osha who had helped make Davos’ case after he had earned their trust. It had taken time, a lot of time and Davos hoped he was not too late.

 

Two dozen Skagosi had accompanied the boy. It had been the price he had to accept to get the boy to board his ship. They appeared savage, they spoke little of the common tongue but they had befriended the boy. The one consolation in visiting Skagos was that the stories of cannibalism appeared little more than myths.  _Or perhaps they didn’t think I’d be to their taste_.

 

He had arrived at White Harbour, thinking he had fulfilled his end of the bargain only to discover that the Lady Arya Stark had claimed Winterfell in her own name, the former Arya Stark being an imposter and the Manderlys were to deliver the boy to her. When Davos made to hand him over, Rickon would not be left in the charge of the Manderlys.

 

“He trusts  _you_  m’lord,” Osha said.

 

And so it fell to Davos to make sure Rickon was delivered to his sister. He was informed that he would find Lord Wyman Manderly at Winterfell. He had arrived at Winterfell and the greeting was even colder than expected. He now found himself and his fellow travelers surrounded by fierce looking knights and men-at-arms with drawn swords. The boy was at his side and the Skagosi had fanned out in front of them. Davos could hear the armed men arguing about savages.

 

“What are you doing?” a female voice demanded. “Put away your swords. My brother is with them.”

 

Davos did not see any swords being sheathed though the men began to look doubtful. Before Davos could push forward and try and help defuse the situation, the boy’s direwolf lunged forward.  _Oh no_. The wolf was unpredictable and capable of far more savagery than the Skagosi.  _This will not end well_.

 

“Lord Rickon please,” he entreated.

 

Before he could get the words out a second beast leapt into the fray, cutting off Shaggydog before the wolf could reach the men. Davos pushed in front of the Skagosi, watching the two of them rolling in the snow, nipping at each other and growling. The other direwolf was larger and had Shaggydog subdued in minutes. Davos looked away and his eyes met the young woman’s.  _This must be the sister_. She was dressed like one of the men and was not at all like the other highborn ladies Davos was accustomed to. There was a hardness about her and he could not tell from her face what she was thinking.

 

“My lady,” he said quickly. “I am Davos Seaworth, Lord of the Rainwood and Hand of the King.”

 

The young woman was unsmiling. “He is not my King. You have brought my brother?”

 

Davos nodded and eyed the men who still held their swords. “The Skagosi mean no harm. They only want to protect Lord Rickon.”

 

“You heard him,” the young woman barked. “Put away your swords. Now.”

 

The men sheathed their weapons hastily and stepped back. The young woman’s eyes flicked slowly over the Skagosi.

 

“I welcome friends of my brother,” she said.

 

Davos interjected. “I’m afraid they speak little of the common tongue my lady, they mostly speak the old tongue.”

 

The young woman smiled, the first real expression Davos had seen. He looked down to see that Rickon had finally stepped forward. For all his wildness, Davos could see the first real fear in the boy’s eyes. He suspected it was fear of rejection from the sister he didn’t know. Osha was close by him looking protective.

 

“Rickon,” The young woman’s tone was soft but her expression became radiant. “You look like our brother Robb used to.” Her smile suddenly dropped. Rickon did not speak, he still looked uncertain.

 

“Lady Arya I am sorry about your brother,” Davos supplied.

 

The Lady Arya Stark looked at Davos as though she had just remembered him. “I apologise my lord, I have been discourteous. I am grateful to you for bringing my brother to me.”

 

She did not look grateful.

 

“You are welcome to stay as a guest in Winterfell for a time, Lord Davos. I am afraid the old tongue is one I don’t know. Is there a way to tell my brother’s friends they are welcome to stay too?”

 

Osha smiled. “The little lord can do that m’lady.” She gave him a prod and the boy passed on the message. The Skagosi thumped their spears on the ground and Davos saw more than one smile.

 

“Rickon,” the Lady Arya said. She bent her small frame into a crouch. “I can see you are frightened. We are blood.” Her expression became fierce and although their features were completely different she resembled the wild Stark boy for the first time. The boy radiated anger and Davos suddenly realised this young woman was the same. “I won’t let anybody harm you.”

 

Rickon took a few steps forward. “I won’t kneel,” the boy said petulantly.

 

The Lady Arya laughed. “You won’t have to.” She grinned. “I don’t kneel either.” She held out her hands and the boy took them.

 

“Sister,” he said hesitantly.

 

“Yes,” she said firmly.

 

The boy’s expression became angry and Shaggydog began to growl again, despite the other direwolf being there ready to subdue him. “A man burnt our home. He  _killed_  everybody.”

 

The Lady Arya’s expression became grim as she leaned close to her brother. “He did,” she said and Davos could only just hear her. “I killed him for it. He can’t hurt you.”

 

The words filled him with foreboding but they had the opposite effect on Rickon. He embraced the young woman. When he finally let go, he looked hesitant again.

 

“I know mother and father are dead.”

 

“Yes,” the Lady Arya said and her expression became pure fury. “We are going to make them pay for that.”

 

A shiver ran down Davos’ spine. She stood, still holding Rickon’s hand and beckoned for everybody to follow her into the castle.

 

Davos noted that when the Lady of Winterfell gave orders, people obeyed rather quickly. Not all of them seemed happy about it but they obeyed nonetheless. Quarters were found for the new arrivals despite the Skagosi being viewed with hostility. Davos himself was given a room which he was more than happy with. It was fire damaged but then again, so was most of the rest of the castle.

 

Rickon stayed close to his sister and Osha and the Skagosi stayed close to Rickon. They led a procession around the castle and through to the kitchens where the Lady Arya requested food for the new guests. Davos took it gratefully. It wasn’t a lot but he had experienced far worse. He tried not to be uncomfortable with the way the young woman looked at him. He felt as though he was being weighed and judged and found wanting.

 

Davos had a good sense of people from his smuggling days and he was quick to realise that there was something wrong about the young woman. In the first days he attempted to hold his tongue but there was no point to that. She seemed to find out everything anyway. There was also something dangerous about the way she moved. She was so light on her feet but he sensed that she was like a snake poised to strike and he misliked the way her direwolf looked at him.

 

He had learned that the boy Rickon had a connection to his wolf. It was clear that Arya was no different. Hers was something which almost made him more nervous. It was more controlled. He expected that if the wolf was to strike it was likely to be calculated and deadly.

 

His train of thought was interrupted when a large woman dressed in armour sat next to him. He recognised her as one of the Lady’s shields, the Lady Brienne. He nodded his head and spoke a greeting. Her response surprised him.

 

“The Lady Arya likes you.”

 

“She does?” Davos was confused. He had now been in Winterfell for almost a week and hadn’t seen a single friendly expression. He hadn’t seen much of an expression on that face at all. He hadn’t had a friendly word from the Lady of Winterfell. He would not have stayed as long as he had but the Lord of White Harbour was avoiding him.

 

“She says she hasn’t met anybody quite like you. She likes how honest you are.”

 

 _Mayhaps there is hope yet_. He had been told that Arya Stark was attached to Aegon Targaryen’s cause when he had stopped at White Harbour. He had also heard of what had happened when she arrived at Winterfell. She had fallen out with Stannis but mayhaps something could be mended. Her hatred of the Lannisters was known and she shared that with Stannis.

 

He sought her out when she emerged from the lessons she had begun with Lord Rickon.

 

“If it please my lady, may I have a word?”

 

She nodded and he followed her. He had thought they would go to her solar. Instead, she walked outside. He kept silent, his worry growing when the direwolf began to shadow her. She glanced at him.

 

“You need not fear Lord Davos, Nymeria will not attack you unless you intend to harm me.”

 

“Might I ask where we are going?” he replied.

 

“Somewhere there are no ears,” the young woman responded.

 

When they stopped, Davos realised they were in the godswood. A large weirwood grew in the place where Arya stood.

 

“Do you keep the old gods my lady?”

 

“Call me Arya, my Lord,” she replied. “I’m really not much of a lady. The old gods were my father’s gods. They are the gods of the North. Do you believe your Stannis is Azor Ahai?”

 

Davos hesitated. “The red woman thinks so.”

 

Arya smiled. “But  _you_  don’t. You are a smart man. It is a shame you were not here to counsel Stannis when I arrived. I suspect things might have gone better. I tried being honest with him but I was angry. My brother wrote me and I hear he is still most unhappy with me.”

 

“Stannis is a just man,” Davos began.

 

“Stannis is a wrong man,” Arya retorted. “Of course it is not all his fault. The priestess has told him lies, whether she meant to or not. I have tried to tell him but I am a woman and he does not listen to any woman but the priestess I hear.” She gave him a pointed look. “Do you worship R’hllor?”

 

“No my l-Arya.”

 

Her smile became a little wider and Davos could see it was genuine. Her eyes twinkled with amusement. “My brother likes you. Osha likes you. I find you brutally honest, even when you know your opinion might not be liked. I like that. It makes you interesting.” Her smile dropped. “Aegon would like you.” she said quietly.

 

“I am Stannis’ man.”

 

“Yes,” she said softly. “You are loyal. I understand that.” She sighed. “I know what you want of me. I cannot give it.”

 

Davos felt his heart sink. He had delivered the Stark boy. The boy was supposed to be the liege lord of the North. It had quickly become apparent to Davos that Rickon was not key anymore. He was a boy and the men looked to the Lady of Winterfell, their warrior maiden. Little Rickon had quickly followed their lead. If she would not ally herself with Stannis, the other Northern houses would not either.

 

“There was a time I would have supported Stannis,” she said gently. “We do share enemies but he is not my King. I cannot kneel.”

 

That was familiar. “Your brother said the same thing the entire journey from Skagos.”

 

Arya smiled. “Yes, he is very close to Osha and free folk don’t kneel I hear. The North does not wish to either.”

 

Davos was surprised. “You don’t intend to kneel for Aegon?”

 

She grinned wolfishly. “He hasn’t asked  _me_  to.” Her face became more serious. “He will not make the North kneel. He has heard them, he has felt their pain and seen their suffering. He knows what they want and he will not take it from them. Your Stannis cannot match that.”

                                               

 _No_  Davos thought wearily  _he cannot_.

 

“Lord Wyman has been avoiding you. I will send him to speak with you,” she said matter-of –factly, “You should wait here. There will be less chance of being overheard.”

 

She murmured a farewell and all but vanished. Davos waited. It took a while but true to her word eventually Lord Wyman Manderly came puffing and struggling into view, the direwolf following not far behind him. Davos eyed the beast suspiciously.

 

“Lord Davos,” Lord Wyman began “I must apologise. The Lady Stark tells me I have been shameful in making you wait.”

 

Davos shifted uncomfortably. “We did have an agreement my Lord.”

 

“Yes,” Lord Wyman sighed. “I did not expect to live long enough to uphold it.”

 

 _I do not like the sound of this_. He looked at the direwolf again. The she-wolf was flitting in and around the godswood.

 

Lord Wyman smiled. “The Lady is not stupid. I’m not sure how much she sees but she is very good at making sure others do not hear. She knows of our agreement.”

 

Davos was surprised. “She does?”

 

Lord Wyman nodded. “She reveals little but she was not happy. She did not however ask that I go back on it.”

 

Davos was even more surprised. “There is something strange about her.”

 

The Lord of White Harbour moved closer. “Not many see it. They see a girl. They see a slight, delicate looking person but underneath it lies steel and barely suppressed rage and I suspect a dangerous skill which will be terrifying when wielded. She does not want to rule and that is why she does it well. The others are beginning to see it. The letter was the beginning. She does not want power but that is what she will have. Through her, the North will get their vengeance.”

 

“She killed Ramsay Bolton,” Davos said. “I heard her tell her brother.”

 

Lord Wyman’s smile was unsettling. “She did. The prisoners are terrified of her and with good reason. Did you hear about the sentencing?”

 

Davos felt a shiver go down his spine. “I did.”

 

“The Young Wolf was formidable on the battlefield. They killed him at the Red Wedding because they could not beat him in the field. His sister will not fall such easy prey. I study her just as she studies others. She sees things and she  _never_  lets her guard down, not in the training yard, not in her solar and not even at a feast. You will have your agreement Lord Davos. I will keep my word but know that my true allegiance is to the Starks.”

 

Davos supposed it would have to do. “Thank you my Lord. I will tell His Grace.”

 

Lord Wyman wasn’t finished. “Lady Arya tried to make your Stannis see sense. I pray that you will help him see this is folly. I will give him the allegiance I promised if I must but cannot call him King in truth. The North will rise but not for Stannis.”

 

Davos parted from him feeling rather unsatisfied. He did not truly feel that he had won a victory. He left for the Wall with a warmer farewell from Winterfell than he had expected but with a heavier heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure whether the Skagosi speak the common tongue, they probably do but it suited me for them to speak the old tongue and given the geography it isn’t implausible. One of the Skagosi houses is the Magnars and we know that is Lord in the old tongue.  
> 


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

 

Rickon had only been a baby when Arya left for King’s Landing. He now had seven years but he was still very much a child. He reminded her of a cross between Bran and Robb but he looked wild and he was always angry. Arya could understand anger. It was something they truly shared.

 

He was not interested in being a lord. Arya had hoped his arrival would lessen the pressure on her. He was, after all, the rightful Lord of Winterfell but he was so difficult to keep in check. Shaggydog was vicious and almost uncontrollable and it took both Arya and Nymeria to keep Rickon and his direwolf from inflicting damage.

 

It touched her that Rickon had bonded with her. Arya was going to protect her brother. He made it hard though. She spent so much time intervening. He set Shaggydog on people, he didn’t trust anybody except her, Osha and the Skagosi. He lashed out often and the people in Winterfell soon began to steer clear of him when they could.

 

Rickon’s quarters were close to hers but he spent a lot of time in her solar and chambers. She suspected that he was worried he might lose her too. She encouraged him to seek her out. When she woke at night and found him looking worried in her doorway she would let him in her bed and tell him stories. She told him all the ones she could remember Old Nan telling her, scary tales of legends and stories about the Starks. She would tell him of Brandon the Builder and the Shipwright, of Jon Stark who drove the pirates from the White Knife and of course of Torrhen Stark, the King who knelt.

 

“Do you know the Stark words?” she asked him.

 

He shook his head and Arya felt sad. He had missed so much.

 

“Winter is coming,” she told him.

 

He looked confused at that. “Winter is here.”

 

“Yes little wolf,” she said with a sad smile, urging him to lie down under the furs “but the words can mean so much more. You will see. Try to sleep now.”

 

 _Winter means the hard times, just like father said._ Arya had seen it well enough.

 

She allowed him a few days to settle in but when it came close to a week she knew she needed to give him more guidance. She knew she needed to be firmer. She just wished she knew what she was doing.  _I wish mother was here_. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind then she became angry, remembering  _why_  her mother was gone.

 

She took Rickon aside.

 

“You are right not to trust everybody little brother but you can’t keep attacking them.”

 

He looked at her, his lower lip protruding in a defiant expression. “I don’t like them. Why can’t they just go?”

 

She sighed and brushed back the hair falling in his eyes. “They are here to help us. We cannot avenge mother and father and Robb on our own. Be a good boy. Watch me instead. I’ll help you learn. I’ll help you see how we can punish our enemies when the time is right. They should not see it coming. Do you understand?”

 

He nodded but she could see he was humouring her.

 

“No more trying to hurt people,” she said firmly “and don’t make me set Nymeria on Shaggydog.”

 

She had spoken with the maester. Rickon needed to learn his letters. He had refused at first then Arya had cut a deal. She would learn the old tongue from him and the Skagosi if he would learn his letters. Rickon didn’t need to know that she had wanted to learn anyway. Her arguments for him to learn his letters were greatly bolstered when she received a letter from Jon. Rickon saw her excitement when reading it and decided it must be worthwhile after all.

 

Stannis was still wroth with her. He was arguing with his priestess and Jon said that people were talking about  _her_  as though she was some sort of warrior princess with unearthly powers. Arya frowned at that. Jon’s letter alternated between the playful brother she once knew and somebody who was writing to a stranger. It hurt a little. He had questions for her, some which could be answered in a letter and some which could not. She answered what she could, feeling upset for a time when she read that he could not come to Winterfell. She added in her letter that Rickon was with her, explaining how it had come about.

 

 _I cannot tell him about the House of Black and White._ They had not come for her but that did not mean they wouldn’t. Arya did not fear for herself but she had Rickon now to worry about and besides that, she feared he might not understand. _Jon would not care if I killed people but assassination is not the same._

 

Rickon laughed at her first attempts at speaking the old tongue but she improved. She learned the old tongue a little faster than Rickon learned his letters but they both learned. She practiced with the Skagosi as she got better and found that while they appeared savage, they were not so different and they were loyal.

 

She also took Duck aside and asked him to teach Rickon how to use arms. He looked worried at first but she could also see he was proud to be asked.

 

“Are you sure little lady?”

 

“I am,” she replied. “You were a master-at-arms. I trust you. I want somebody I trust to teach him. He needs to learn when the right time is to draw his weapon.”

 

She also knew that Duck was her best hope. Rickon warmed to him more because he knew Duck was Arya’s friend. It also helped that Rickon saw Arya spar with Duck. She was watching Rickon and Duck one day when Osha came and sat with her.

 

“You are not what I expected of a Southron lady.”

 

Arya glanced at her. “I’m Northern.”

 

Osha smiled at that. “Anything south of the Wall is Southron.”

 

Arya thought for a moment. “I suppose it is.”

 

There was a brief pause before Osha kept talking. “You are a more like the free folk than the others. You don’t kneel either, you’re one of the best spearwives I’ve known and of course there’s the marriage talk.”

 

Arya didn’t look away from Duck and Rickon. “Is there?”

 

Osha laughed. “You know there is. Amongst the free folk a man has to steal a woman. If she don’t want to be stolen he can expect a good beating.”

 

This time Arya laughed, a real laugh. “I like that idea.”

 

Osha grinned. “I thought you might.”

 

There was another brief silence. Rickon had just lost his temper and Duck had given him a rap on the wrist with a tourney sword for trying to take a swing at him. The boy looked at Arya. “You earned that Rickon. Listen to Duck, he’ll teach you well. He taught Prince Aegon.”

 

Despite Rickon’s refusal to kneel, that piece of information impressed him. Arya saw him look at Duck with wide eyes and Duck grinned. Osha looked at Arya knowingly and she tried to repress a scowl.

 

“The free folk follow the strong you know,” Osha continued. “The Skagosi are the same. Rickon has lived with them and me for most of his life and he now follows you. I’ve seen what is happening here.”

 

“Have you?” Arya asked, motioning encouragement as Rickon looked at her again.

 

Osha’s “They follow  _you_  because you are strong.”

 

Arya sighed. She did not feel strong just then but she was trying.  _I have little choice_. “I’m going to the rookery,” she said. “Let Rickon know where I’ve gone.”

 

She felt Osha watching her. “You look for those birds a lot.”

 

She couldn’t argue with that. She was almost there when Asha Greyjoy fell into step with her. Arya had seen the woman watching her. She hadn’t been sure what to do with her. She was a prisoner of sorts but had been allowed some degree of freedom.

 

“You don’t have your guards with you my lady.”

 

“Brienne is sleeping after night duty and Duck is in the training yard,” she looked at Asha with narrowed eyes. “I don’t need guards.”

 

The Greyjoy woman laughed. “You surely don’t.”

 

Arya kept walking. “Is there something you want?”

 

“You haven’t killed my brother.”

 

Arya did her best to hide her expression. “There would be no point.”

 

“You will not free him?” she asked.

 

“I cannot,” Arya said abruptly. Even if she had wanted to (and she wasn’t sure she did) the others at Winterfell would take it badly.

 

The woman reached for her wrist and Arya reacted quickly, retrieving her finger knife from where she hid it in her sleeve. Asha quickly raised her hands defensively but she was  _smiling_.

 

“I’d love to be able to do that,” she said. “It’s almost as handy as my throwing axes.”

 

“Make your point,” Arya growled.

 

“I can help you,” she said. “I’ve been watching you. I know what you want.”

 

“I doubt that,” Arya retorted.

 

“You want your enemies to pay but you also want your prince to have his seven kingdoms.” She grinned. “I can deliver one.”

 

Despite herself, Arya was interested. She stopped “How so?”

 

“Euron Greyjoy will not last on the Seastone Chair. My brother and I can take it.”

 

Arya raised an eyebrow. “I can see you believe that. Why would you think I’d let you do that?”

 

Asha grinned again. “We will make peace with your prince.” Her face became serious. “My uncle is mad. The Iron Islands will rejoin the seven kingdoms. You have my word.”

 

Arya studied her. “You really mean that don’t you.”

 

Asha nodded. “I wouldn’t lie to you. I’ve seen what you do to liars.”

 

They began to walk again and they reached the rookery. Arya wanted to be alone and the Greyjoy woman must have sensed it.

 

“Just think about it,” she said. “In the meantime,” she gave an exaggerated bow and smiled “I am at your service.”

 

She was saved from dwelling on Asha Greyjoy when she found a raven waiting for her. It had the Targaryen seal but it was not Connington’s hand. She clutched it tightly and fled to her quarters, opening it with fumbling fingers. She began to read.

 

_Dearest Arya,_

_I have missed you terribly. It has been so long since anybody has pointed out my stupidity. Lord Connington sometimes implies it but it just isn’t the same._

 

She had to put the parchment down, her vision blurred so badly she couldn’t keep reading.  _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. She took a few deep breaths then steeled herself to keep reading.

 

_Lord Connington is wroth that the North will not offer support but I have not forgotten your words and I have not forgotten what I saw in Winterfell. I will never forget how brave you are. We march soon. There is much work to be done but I will find a way back to you my love. Do make sure you give Duck a good beating for me. I shall want him at his best when we meet again._

_Aegon_

 

She set it down in her lap, trying to control her breathing.  _Stupid, stupid man_  she thought.  _He was supposed to forget me_. When Duck finally came in he found her still clutching the parchment. His face lit up.

 

“Is it from the lad?”

 

He was so hopeful that Arya knew she couldn’t keep it from him. Duck knew their secrets though Arya was certain she still blushed a little as she read out the parts she was able to share. Duck was smiling when she finished but she could see pity mixed with it.

 

“He’s fond of you,” he said.

 

“I should burn it,” Arya sighed. “If somebody sees it...”

 

She walked to the hearth but before she dropped it into the flames she knew she couldn’t do it. Instead she folded in up and stored it away in a hidden compartment in one of her pairs of breeches.  _What am I going to do with him?_

 


	27. Chapter 27: Aegon

Chapter 27: Aegon

The journey back to Storm’s End seemed to go smoother than the reverse voyage had. Aegon was told they had made better time though it didn’t feel like it to him. When he finally arrived back at the castle he made haste to wash the dye from his hair. He wanted to be alone but he kept his guards as Arya had said. Lemore found him trying to towel his hair and looking in a looking glass to see if the blue was gone. He made himself smile at her.

 

“Lord Connington told me Aegon,” she said softly.

 

“It makes no matter,” he said defensively. “The North must be secured and this is the best way.”

 

Lemore put her hand on his shoulder. “You do not need to pretend with me. I know it hurts.”

 

Aegon scowled. “I’m not pretending. I am not a soft hearted woman.” He felt contrite when she withdrew her hand and he saw her flinch just a little. He turned and took her hands in his. “Forgive me.”

 

Lemore softened. “There is nothing to forgive.”

 

She sat with him and listened as he explained the events in Winterfell. She left when he was done but it wasn’t long before food was sent to his solar. He sat and ate it, grateful for the relative peace. It was short lived but it gave him time to think about what he wanted to do. Lord Connington called him to a meeting the next morning. Aegon knew he was going to be wroth, he just underestimated the extent of it.

 

“You left Duck in Winterfell.”

 

“I did,” Aegon replied.

 

“Did you  _want_  to advertise to the whole of Westeros that she is your mistress?”

 

Aegon bristled. “Don’t call her my mistress! If we didn’t need dragons and she wasn’t so stubborn she would be my bride.”

 

Connington’s response was cold. “So because she didn’t want to marry you bedded her and dishonoured her. I thought you would move on once she stayed.”

 

Aegon looked down at his hands. The accusation stung.  _Is that what I did?_  He had gone over it in his head so many times. It felt right being with Arya. It didn’t  _feel_  dishonourable.  _She_  didn’t make him feel dishonourable. He buried the twinge of guilt.

  
“She didn’t stay because she wanted to. You didn’t see what happened. She needed Duck.”

 

Connington sighed. “You must see what it looks like. Kingsguard guard the King and his family. Leaving Duck with her sends a message-“

 

Aegon set his jaw. “I wasn’t leaving her alone there. I couldn’t stay so Duck did.”

 

Haldon interjected. “Moving on, we haven’t made any progress with the North yet. Her letter said some might agree to an alliance but while they are split nothing will be settled.”

 

Aegon looked up. “She wrote?”

 

Connington sighed again. “She did. She warned me to stop you doing anything reckless.”

 

Aegon grinned.  _She knows me too well_. He launched into a repeat of the explanation he had given Lemore, telling them of what had been discovered at White Harbour, of Arya’s confrontation with Stannis Baratheon and her claiming of Winterfell and the allegiance of the North. He finished it with the tale of what had occurred down in the crypts.

 

“I would have preferred if Stannis had met a permanent end,” Lord Connington grumbled.

 

“I was tempted,” Aegon admitted “but Arya warned me it would be my end too.”

 

“She’s not stupid,” Connington said grudgingly. He looked at Aegon intently. “Do we need to worry about the North claiming independence? I mislike this talk of Torrhen Stark.”

 

“It’s awfully cold there, it’s almost enough to tempt me to give it to them,” Aegon japed.

 

Connington was not amused. He gave Aegon a look of disapproval then changed the subject.

 

Aegon listened as Haldon and Lord Connington updated him on the state of the war. They had taken more castles, they had just a few more allies but progress was slow. Dorne still waited. The Iron Islands were still reaving. The Tyrell-Lannister alliance still limped along though there were rumblings of discontent in the Riverlands.

 

“If Kings Landing didn’t have hostages then I expect we’d have some support there” Haldon said.

 

“We have heard nothing of Daenerys,” Connington frowned. “I’m starting to wonder if she has sailed at all.”

 

Aegon didn’t comment but inside he felt relief.

 

That night he dreamed of Arya. When he woke he could almost feel her touch. She had small scars on her fingers. He knew the location of each. He could still remember the time he asked her about them.

 

“How did you get those?” he had asked.

 

She had looked down at her hands. “I was careless.”

 

“How so?” he pressed.

 

“I was learning to make poisons,” she mumbled. “Some of the ingredients burn.”

 

He had known he should be horrified but he couldn’t contain his laughter. She had scowled at him.

 

“What’s so funny?”

 

He took a moment to compose himself enough to get the words out. “You never have a  _normal_  explanation for anything.”

 

He had seen her try to control her expression and she failed. She had dissolved into her own laughter.

 

He knew he was supposed to distance himself from her but the dream weakened him and he wrote to her. He made Haldon promise not to tell Lord Connington. He knew the promise wouldn’t be kept long but as long as the letter was sent off first he could live with that.

 

Things seemed to revert to a routine at Storm’s End far too quickly. He held court and met with the lords and ladies present as was his duty. They were all flattery and courtesy. He found himself feeling disappointed even though he knew they weren’t at fault. He thought back to when his cousin Arianne and her party had visited. That had been an interesting time.

 

His cousin Elia Sand had been rather amusing,  _Lady Lance_  he remembered, smiling. She had that same boldness Arya had. Arianne herself had been charming and quick witted but she was most interested in Lord Connington. He had found out afterwards that she had tried (and failed) to seduce Connington and he had laughed harder than he could remember just thinking about it. There were no such interesting characters amongst the current crop at court.

 

He was almost tempted to write Dorne and request another visit but all that would do is waste time. It was time to make a bolder move. At his next meeting with Connington he made the announcement.

 

“The Lannisters have held Dragonstone too long already. It was a Targaryen stronghold. We need to take it.”

 

Lord Connington looked thoughtful but he nodded. “I agree.”

 

They gathered the commanders of the Golden Company and began to put the plan in place. Ravens were sent out calling on allies to help them take the castle. The planning took time and Aegon was impatient. He wanted a distraction. He received a reply from Arya. It didn’t help.

 

_Your Grace,_

_You must be more careful with what you write in your letters. If your enemies intercept them it will go ill for you. I do not wish to have to burn what you write. I executed the traitors held in Winterfell’s dungeons. The repairs to the castle are slow but there is progress. My brother is with me now and he has brought Skagosi with him. They speak the old tongue and I am learning. Nymeria is pining. Please keep safe._

_Arya Stark_

 

It was short and abrupt. He reread it a few times. At first it hurt that it was so impersonal but he thought back to when they parted. She had clung to him. When he let go of her he could see her eyes were shining with unshed tears. She would not let them fall, he knew that of her. She never said what she felt but he knew. He stopped at the bottom of the letter.  _Nymeria is pining_. He smiled. He sincerely doubted that. Arya was always better than him at guarding them from exposure. It meant something, he was sure.

 

Aegon was glad for the distraction when they set sail. He and Lord Connington had the same argument they always did but Aegon was not going to sit in Storm’s End while the men fought to take back the seat of House Targaryen. It began with a siege, a tedious affair lasting a moon while they established how well provisioned the garrison left in the castle were. As it turned out, they were not well provisioned. The Tyrells were weakened from previous battles. The Redwyne fleet was otherwise occupied and supplies to Dragonstone could not be replenished. Alongside that, Aegon was now aligned with much of the Reach and his men had access to their food supplies.

 

It appeared that it would end bloodlessly. The garrison inside the castle raised the portcullis, access was granted but they entered the castle prematurely. Dragonstone  _was_  taken but not without some cost. Connington would tell him later that he was foolish rushing in. If Arya had been there she would have said he was stupid. Aegon just counted himself lucky. An injury he could come back from, he very nearly got himself killed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Dany, she will arrive eventually. She is just taking her time. The battle for Meereen is done but she is off on the Dothraki sea. I expect she went to see the dosh khaleen (as in her vision) and that will chew up time. I don't know how long she would then spend in Meereen. I have chosen not to write chapters from her POV while they are still in the East. This story is set in Westeros


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

 

Arya joined Rickon from the rookery, a letter in her hand.

 

“We have a raven from Jon.”

 

Her young brother still had a lot to learn but she wanted him to read it with her as best he could. They sat together, her trying to be patient as he struggled with his temper. Rickon had a short fuse but he was getting better. He managed to make out quite a few of the smaller words and when they got to the end together she could see he was pleased.

 

“We must tell Jon how good you are getting,” she told him with a smile.

 

Jon still had questions about her time away. She wanted to tell him, she really did but she was afraid. There were things she couldn’t tell him and the other things, the other questions he had were difficult to answer in a letter. Jon told her of the Wall. They needed men. He wasn’t asking it of her, he was referring to requests made to various self proclaimed Kings but Arya thought that might be something she could help with. Rickon interrupted her train of thought.

 

“Jon is a bastard,” he said in a serious voice.

 

“He is,” Arya conceded “but he is our blood. He does not have our name but he is just as Stark as we are.”

 

Rickon chewed his lip. “I heard the men saying-“

 

“I know what they say,” Arya said angrily. “They don’t know Jon. He is like father. He has honour. He has more honour than many of  _them_.”

 

Rickon looked at her with big eyes and Arya took a deep breath.  _Calm as still water._ She was supposed to be setting an example. She couldn’t be losing her own temper so easily.

 

“People say lots of things. It is for us to find out the truth from lies. Have you heard the saying words are wind?”

 

Rickon nodded.

 

“That is true of a lot of what is said. We let the untruths pass by us. We might nod and pretend we don’t know they are lies but that doesn’t mean we believe.”

 

She stood, beckoning him to follow. “It’s time to go riding.”

 

Arya’s days were exhausting. She began early, breaking her fast in the dark before starting lessons with Rickon. The maester could handle teaching him his letters but Arya liked to be on hand for most of his lessons with Duck and Rickon wasn’t good on a horse. He had very little riding experience so Arya had begun teaching him as best she could. They had no master of horse at Winterfell anymore.

 

When she returned from riding she would have to go to the great hall and meet with the lords still in Winterfell. A great many remained even after time had passed. Some had returned to their homes. Others had left and come back. She knew there would come a time when the banners would be called and the battles would begin. In the meantime the injured were healing and the frail were recovering. Conditions had been harsh in the lead up to the battle with the Boltons. The time had also allowed for Winterfell to be better repaired and for more provisions to be brought in.

 

She had decided to try again to talk to the men of the dragons. She had tried once, not long after arriving in Winterfell. The conversation had not gone well. She had tried to be blunt. 

 

“The dragons are coming.”

 

“The Targaryens?” one of the knights called out.

 

“No,” she had replied. “The scaled and flying kind.”

 

The hall had erupted into raucous laughter and Arya had given up. She had been determined to try again though. She didn’t want it said when Daenerys arrived that she had given the North no warning. It didn’t go a lot better this time. She tried to give a better explanation.

 

“Daenerys Targaryen is sailing from the East. She has three dragons.”

 

They weren’t quite as dismissive as they had been the first time. She had earned that much respect from them now but she could see they didn’t believe her though Wyman Manderly was giving her that look which told her he might be laughing but he wasn’t a fool. The Lord of White Harbour had not left. He had excuses. His health was bad. He couldn’t ride. Arya didn’t care. If he wanted to stay she would let him. There was worse than him at Winterfell.

 

She sighed as the others made jokes about grumkins and let them change the subject. It was not one she wanted to dwell on herself. Aegon got so excited when he spoke of dragons and Arya thought she might like to see them herself but their arrival would mean change. It would bring death to those who opposed the Targaryens and Arya thought once again of Torrhen Stark.

 

She pushed the thought aside to listen to the men. There was talk of repairing the glasshouses. Arya had been hopeful of it but she wasn’t sure how it could really be done. Glass was costly and they needed their gold for food and the war to come. The glasshouses would help with growing food but not immediately and immediate needs came first she had come to realise.

 

Before she retired to her quarters after dinner, she paid a visit to the prisoners. They were rather less than fond of her. She knew it was custom to ransom the sons of lords. She hadn’t been quite sure what to do about the others. She now had an idea. Some were convinced on her first visit. Others would take a little more work. Arya had patience in this at least.

 

She climbed into her bed feeling weary. She wasn’t sure what hour it was when she woke to somebody in her room. Instinct made her grab a weapon before she realised it was Rickon.

 

“What is it Rickon?”

 

He was hesitant but she called him over, letting him climb onto the bed with her. She could see something had shaken him. His eyes were big as he spoke.

 

“I dreamed somebody would hurt you.”

 

Arya smiled. “Do not worry little wolf, you know what will happen if they try?”

 

Rickon smiled back uncertainly. “You’ll stick them with the pointy end.”

 

She ruffled his hair and laughed. “That’s right.”

 

Jon’s advice notwithstanding she could see the boy was not going to relax so she let him stay with her.

 

She gave it no further thought until dinner that night. They had a limited supply of wine. Arya wasn’t much of a wine drinker but it was expected so she usually had just one cup. The cup was sitting by her and she was talking when she realised one of the squires had handled it. Before he could leave she called him back.

 

“I think I’ve had enough wine,” she said, watching his reaction. “It seems a shame to waste it. Here.”

 

Arya moved to pass the cup to the young man and saw his eyes become as large as eggs. “No, my lady,” he stammered.

 

“No?” Arya questioned. “Perhaps I wish for you to drink it. You would not refuse?”

 

The young man began to tremble and Arya was aware the hall had fallen silent.

 

“Drink the wine boy,” one of the men called out. “There’s little enough of it now.”

 

The young man shook his head and Arya could see him sweating.

 

“I think it was intended only for me,” Arya said angrily. “If it is good enough for me though, why not for you? Who put you up to this?”

 

The squire tried to dart away but Duck had clearly figured out what was going on and he grabbed him by the arm. He took the cup of wine from Arya with his other hand and held it to the boy’s mouth. “Drink,” he barked.

 

The squire tried to knock the cup from Duck’s hand but the big man’s grip was too firm.

 

“Poison,” one of the Flints gasped.

 

“We will find out once he drinks it,” Arya said icily “and he will unless he tells me who asked him to do this.”

 

“I don’t know,” the squire said, beginning to weep. “I don’t know who he was. He was with the ones who left this morning. He just said to put it in your wine. He said you would never know. He said nobody would know.”

 

“Well he had that wrong, didn’t he,” Arya said abruptly.

 

She did not need to study him to know he was not a servant of the House of Black and White. His attempt was too easy to detect and if they had wanted her dead there were much better ways. Somebody else wanted her to die and Arya wanted to know who.

 

She heard a snarl and remembered Rickon. She turned to see her brother on his feet, his face pale and fury in his features. Shaggydog had come into the hall and Arya knew where this was headed.

 

“No Rickon,” she said. “There are other ways to handle this.”

 

“He tried to kill you,” Rickon shouted.

 

Half the men in the hall were on their feet joining him in calling for the squire’s head. Arya called for silence. It took a while to get anybody to listen. Brienne had taken Rickon’s arm and was whispering to him. Whatever she was saying had him calmer though Shaggydog was still pacing the hall.  When Arya could finally make herself be heard she ordered the squire to be taken to the dungeons.

 

Her order was met with protests but Duck was swift to carry it out. The cup of wine was tipped out. Rickon threw his arms around her as the squire left the hall. She could feel him shaking.

 

“Why didn’t you kill him?” he asked, his voice muffled in her tunic.

 

She disentangled herself from him, bending to look him in the eye. “I need to know who asked him to poison me. If I kill him, somebody else will try. He is only a catspaw. Do you understand?”

 

Rickon nodded.

 

“You can come with me. I’m going to question him.”

 

She made her way down to the cells, Rickon following close behind. Duck and Brienne were waiting along with a collection of men who had been in the hall and wore malevolent expressions as they looked on the squire in his cell.

 

The questioning was of limited use. The squire was too frightened to lie but all they got from him was a description of a man who wore a hooded cloak. His features were hidden and he either wore no sigil or the squire did not remember it. She was able to find out which party he had left with. It was the Ryswell party headed for Barrowton.

 

Arya spun on her heel and started to rush to her quarters. Duck caught her arm.

 

“You can’t go after them my Lady.”

 

Arya bit her lip. She felt a tug at her hand and saw Rickon watching her.

 

“I can’t let him just go.”

 

Brienne interceded. “Nobody is saying that but you should send somebody else. I’ll go.”

 

Arya hesitated. She wanted to handle it herself. She wanted to stamp her foot in frustration.  _I’m so tired of being trapped_. Rickon gripped her hand tighter.

 

“I don’t want them to try to hurt you again,” he said. She could see he was torn between his rage and fear.

 

“They won’t hurt me,” she said reassuringly.

 

 _Brienne is right, I can’t go_.  _Not yet_. She sighed and nodded to Brienne.

 

“Choose good people to go with you. When you find him I want him brought to me.”

 

Arya didn’t hold out much hope.  _I could have found him_  she thought gloomily. Even with a vague description she had her ways. Instead she trudged to her quarters. Duck shadowed her and Rickon wouldn’t leave her side. She gave into it, playing absentminded games of Cyvasse with Duck in her solar while Rickon looked on. It didn’t take her long to realise Duck was almost as shaken as Rickon.

 

“He shouldn’t have been able to get that poison in your cup. If I had-“

 

Arya reached out and squeezed his hand. “You didn’t fail me.”

 

Duck looked doubtful. “I’m meant to be guarding you. If you hadn’t-“

 

“We all got complacent,” Arya said gently.

 

“You didn’t,” Duck said abruptly.

 

Arya shook her head. “This is my life. His attempt was clumsy. We know now somebody is after me. We will be ready if they try again.”

 

“How did you know?” Rickon asked.

 

Arya looked him in the eye. “He touched my wine cup. He had no reason to. I knew somebody once. He gave me good advice.  _Look with your eyes_. If your eyes are open you will see what should not be.”

 

Rickon looked confused but he nodded. “I’ll look Arya. I’ll keep my eyes open.”

 

She gave him a smile. He would not learn so easily but it was an important lesson. She had learned it herself when she was not much older than Rickon.

 

It was late when Arya finally got to bed. When she rose Brienne was gone. Arya knew the Lady of Tarth would pursue the hooded man relentlessly. If anybody other than Arya could find him it would be Brienne.

 

As she went about her duties for the day, she saw movement outside the castle. It was a clearer day than it had been in recent weeks.  _Somebody is watching_. She kept one eye on Duck and Rickon in the training yard while the other scanned the trees.  _I wonder whether the hooded man really left_.

 

She was meant to go riding with Rickon but she made an excuse for him to stay and went out on her own. It took some work to stop Duck coming with her. She didn’t go very far from the castle before dismounting and resting her back against a tree. It was not long before she heard somebody approach. Before he could grab her, she whipped out her dagger, holding it to his throat.

 

The man was tall and lean, his features lined. His hair was grey but he had bright blue eyes. Something about him seemed familiar. Instead of looking afraid, he  _smiled_. “There’s no need for that child. I won’t harm you.”

 

“I’m not a  _child_ ,” Arya retorted. “Why have you been watching me?”

 

“I needed to be certain of you.” His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “You have your father’s look but I can still see your mother in you.”

 

Arya stiffened. “Who are you?”

 

“People call me the Blackfish,” he replied “but my name is Brynden Tully.”

 

Arya dropped the dagger.

 


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

After bringing Brynden Tully with her to Winterfell and taking part with the others in questioning how he had made it to them, Arya brought him to her solar. She sat, feeling exhausted and accepted an offer of wine. It was tested before she drank any. Nobody was taking any precautions now. The wine was mulled and she enjoyed the warmth of it spreading through her chest.

 

“My mother spoke of you when I was young,” she said.

 

He looked sad then his fist clenched. “What they did to her was unspeakable.”

 

There was a brief silence then Arya blurted out “I did not want to lead Uncle Brynden. I did not want this.”

 

He gave her a sad smile. “Yet you did it anyway. Do you remember the Tully words?”

 

Arya sighed. “Family, Duty, Honour. Winterfell needed me and my brother needed me. That doesn’t make it any easier.” She frowned. “I had other things I wanted to do.”

 

_I wanted justice for my family. I wanted to see Jon. It isn’t home without Jon._

                    

“We always do child,” Ser Brynden replied. “You have not married.”

 

Arya fought the urge to frown.  _Not this again._

“Neither have you,” she shot back.

 

The Blackfish laughed, a real laugh of sheer amusement which Arya couldn’t help but join in with. He was still smiling as he responded.

 

“Well played.”                                                                      

 

It felt good for Arya to have another person she could trust and she  _did_  trust the Blackfish. He was an excellent adviser and he took some of the burden from her. He was also good with Rickon though he was perturbed at times by the boy’s fits of anger and the viciousness of Shaggydog. Rickon had improved but Arya was still the only person who could really get through to him when he lost control, particularly when she had to involve Nymeria to stop Shaggydog.

 

Brienne returned many days later without the man she was seeking.

 

“I’m sorry my lady,” she said, clearly miserable.

 

Arya put a hand on her arm in an attempt to comfort her.

 

“Tell me what happened.”

 

The man had not travelled far with the Ryswell men before he melted away. Nobody knew in what direction he was travelling. Brienne had tried to keep searching but she had nothing to go on.

 

“Whoever planned this is not stupid,” Arya mused. “Thank you for trying. Nobody could have done better.”

 

She did wonder if she might have had more success but there was no gain in dwelling on it. If they tried again Arya would be ready and this time he would not get away.

 

The attempt on her life was put to the back of her mind when a raven came bearing the Targaryen seal. It was in a hand Arya did not recognise. She took it and returned to her solar to read in private.

 

_Lady Arya,_

_I am writing to tell you we successfully took Dragonstone. I am most pleased to have the seat of House Targaryen back in Targaryen control. I have not yet had a chance to explore it. You will be wroth with me. I took an arrow in the shoulder upon entering the castle. The maester assures me I will make a full recovery but for now I cannot use my arm while it heals. It is most frustrating but I can promise I will learn from this. Please pass on my regards to Lord Rickon. I do hope he and I will be friends._

_Aegon Targaryen_

 

The signature was in a different hand to the rest of the letter. She knew Aegon must have signed it but it was scrawled. He had clearly had difficulty. The letter was far more formal than his last. Arya supposed he had told the maester what to write and that at least had hindered what he could say.

 

She put the parchment aside and hurried outside. She crept, quiet as a shadow, through the castle. She did not want to be seen. She needed to be alone. She went to the godswood and knelt in front of the heart tree. It had become a habit even though she rarely prayed. Nymeria stayed close. She had clearly picked up on Arya’s mood.

 

She was so angry with him. She felt her eyes begin to water and angrily brushed the tears away before they could fall.  _I warned him_.  _Why wouldn’t he listen?_

 

She heard somebody coming and began to rise. When Shaggydog loped towards her she relaxed and dropped back to her knees. Rickon followed close behind. He was alone and he looked serious.

 

“What’s wrong Arya?”

 

“Nothing,” she said quickly. She tried to force a smile.

 

Rickon scowled. “Don’t lie. I felt it.”

  
Arya sighed looking at the direwolves. She motioned for Rickon to join her.

 

“I received a raven. Prince Aegon has been hurt.”

 

Rickon gave her a look she didn’t like.  _What has he heard?_  She was startled when he took her hand in his.

 

“He is my friend,” she said defensively.

 

Rickon looked solemn and for a moment he reminded her of father. “I know.”

 

They were quiet for a little before Arya took a deep breath and shared the information from the letter with Rickon. He listened intently and smiled when Arya passed on the message intended for him.

 

“Will I meet him?”

 

Arya paused. “Do you want to?”

 

Rickon chewed on his lip. “I don’t know. Will he try to make me kneel?”

 

Arya couldn't help but laugh. “I don’t think so.”

 

She had composed herself by the time she returned to the castle. She shared the contents of the letter with Duck. His reaction wasn’t much better than hers had been. She told him to keep it between them and hoped Rickon would do the same.

 

Arya had been visiting the dungeons regularly and her efforts had been rewarded. Many of the prisoners now wished to take the black, including the squire who had tried to poison her. The men were not happy about it, Rickon most of all but Arya felt she could not refuse him.  _Father would have done the same_ , she knew that.

 

She wrote to Jon to tell him. When she received his reply she was taken aback. She ran through the castle, ignoring the looks she received. She found Rickon and Duck in the training yard. She was breathless and as excited as she was, nerves were starting to settle in a little too. They both turned to look at her. Duck saw the parchment in her hand.

 

“I take it you have good news little lady.”

 

Arya couldn’t stop a smile.

 

“Jon is coming to visit us.”

 

 


	30. Chapter 30: Jon

Chapter 30: Jon

 

Jon sighed heavily as he read the latest letter from Arya. _She avoids answering my questions_. He had tried more than once but it was a painstaking process. The information he got from her came in pieces. His little sister was very guarded. She wanted to see him, he knew that but he had made an oath. _I have no sister, only my brothers_. He could not leave no matter how much he wanted to.

 

He still couldn’t understand how Rickon had come to be alive and at Winterfell. Arya had given him an explanation for that but it was brief and short on details. It had become clear that unless she was intent on swearing bloody vengeance and calling for war she was not much for writing lengthy letters.

 

His train of thought was interrupted by Satin at his door bringing him hot mulled wine and some meagre food to break his fast. The steward lingered after delivering the food.

 

“M’lord, the Lady Melisandre is waiting for you.”

 

 _Of course she is_.

 

“Tell her I will meet with her after I break my fast.”

 

The red woman had spent many days shut away looking into the flames after Stannis returned from Winterfell. When she finally emerged word spread quickly that her and Stannis had argued again. She had misinterpreted the flames. Jon had not needed to rely on rumours, Melisandre had sought him out to tell him herself what she had told Stannis. He was not Azor Ahai but she still insisted that she saw him on a throne in the flames. She did not know what it meant but she now believed that the throne she saw was not the Iron Throne.

 

Stannis had taken the news ill. Jon could not blame him.  He had sacrificed much following the red woman only to find out that it was based on a lie. There were those who still urged him to fight for the Iron Throne. Others wanted Melisandre to be sacrificed to her red god. Queen Selyse held fast to the priestess and that had gone some way to having her spared.

 

Melisandre had somehow risen above it all. Her most fervent desire now was to see Jon’s little sister. Jon could not allow it. His resistance thus far had put her off but with each passing week she became more insistent and she haunted him. She was never far from him. He felt her red eyes watching him.

 

“ _Snow_ ,” the raven cried. “ _King Snow, King Snow.”_

 

Jon frowned. “I do not need that from _you_ too.”

 

 _I have enough of that from Melisandre_. She still would not let up about his King’s blood. Whenever she wasn’t talking about visions in the flames and her need to see Arya she was pressing him over what they could achieve together. He did not want it. He was grateful that she had brought him back after his brothers attacked him but his views on her sorcery were unchanged.

 

He looked at the parchment again and frowned. The letters were gaining little. He thought of Arya and Rickon living at Winterfell. He could not even picture Rickon’s face. His youngest brother had been little more than a baby when Jon left for the Wall. No doubt the boy did not even remember him. He thought on his old home, on Winterfell and quickly pushed the thought away. His life was at the Wall.

 

Jon could not afford to feel homesick after all this time. Winterfell was no longer the same. It was burned and broken. Arya had said it was being repaired but Jon knew it could never be the same. It would never be the same place they had grown up in. There were too many ghosts. The rebuilding would have to have made the castle stronger though.   _I want them to be safe_. It was a foolish notion. Nowhere was safe anymore.

 

They had a very recent reminder of that. Cold winds had risen and wights had descended on the Shadow Tower. Their numbers had been few but the Watch had still lost men. Ser Denys Mallister had sent a report. They had managed to defeat the wights having been well prepared with torches but it had been a terrifying ordeal. Worse still it was not even a fraction of what they would face when the true enemy arrived. It was merely a test. Jon was sure of it.

 

Stannis lingered at the Wall. He had taken up residence in the Nightfort. Jon knew he brooded there. His Hand had arrived some weeks ago, Lord Davos Seaworth. Jon had been pleasantly surprised upon meeting the man. He was fiercely loyal to Stannis (despite Stannis having shortened his fingers) but was brutally honest. Jon had an audience with him before Davos had left for the Nightfort.

 

Unlike Stannis, Lord Davos had not made an enemy of his sister. Davos himself could not understand why, a fact which gave Jon his first amusement in a long while. _Perhaps my little sister is not as different as I had thought_. They had met outside Castle Black. Ghost was at Jon’s heels and he noted that Davos did not react as strongly as most did upon seeing the direwolf. _He has seen Nymeria and Shaggydog_.

 

“Lady Arya asked that I pass on her regards,” Davos had offered.

 

“Thank you my lord.”

 

Melisandre had been nearby when Lord Davos arrived and Jon did not miss the expression which crossed his face at the sight of the red woman. Davos looked wary as the priestess drew up alongside Jon.

 

“Lord Davos,” she greeted him. “You have met with the Lord Commander’s sister.”

 

“Aye, my lady,” Davos had responded. “She is as fond of you as I am.”

 

Jon could not repress his smile. Melisandre laughed.

 

“I have told the Lord Commander I must see her. The Lord of Light shows her to me. She has a role to play in the war to come.”

 

The ruby at her neck pulsed and Jon was unsettled. He noted that Davos looked as unsettled as he was. They had a private audience afterwards.

 

“My lord, I urge you to be wary of the priestess.”

 

“I am most wary Lord Davos.”

 

“Your sister,” Davos paused. “Forgive me but there is something wrong there. Something has happened to her, I know not what. The red woman would use it if given the chance.”

 

 _I do not like the sound of this._ “I thank you for the warning but I do not intend to give her that chance.”

 

Davos looked doubtful.

 

“I’m not sure you could stop her, my lord.” He smiled. “The red woman has power but she will not find the Lady Arya to be easily swayed. She knows her mind and I heard strange tales in Winterfell.”

 

Jon did not see Davos again after that. Davos joined Stannis at the Nightfort. Melisandre, however, had not left. Her talk of Arya had increased and Jon had begun to fear that she would leave for Winterfell of her own accord against his wishes. When he met with her that morning it became apparent that she had sensed his fear.

 

“You must come with me Lord Snow.”

 

Jon was surprised. “I cannot. My place is at the Wall.”

 

Melisandre smiled. “There will come a time when you will see. That time approaches.”

 

Jon did not see her for some days. He had other things to keep him occupied. He monitored the new recruits. _Too few of them_. He heard reports of progress on the restoration of the castles along the Wall. _Still too slow_. He went through another check of the stores of food for the Watch. _Not nearly enough and dwindling too fast._

He slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares when he wasn’t in Ghost’s skin, prowling through the night. Another letter came from Arya, this one relevant to the Night’s Watch. She had men willing to take the black in Winterfell’s dungeons. She could not send them on herself, she asked that the Watch send people to take them from Winterfell to the Wall. Jon wondered what sort of recruits they might make. It had been some time since they had recruited any men already skilled at arms apart from some of the Wildlings.

 

He called a meeting with the Lord Steward and First Builder to discuss sending men to Winterfell. Neither of them had any useful suggestions as to who he might send. It was a difficult decision. Jon knew many of the Northern lords remained at Winterfell. Wildlings would not be well received. He retired that night without having made the decision and feeling weary.

 

His sleep was broken and he dreamed of Arya and of Winterfell. His sister he could not see properly but Winterfell he could. He felt young again and the castle, while not looking as it was when he left it was far less broken than he had imagined. He walked through the gates and saw men bleeding. As he looked on in horror, a creature took to the sky breathing flame. When he woke, he was covered in sweat.

 

The dream did not leave him. It stayed with him throughout the day and come nightfall, Melisandre found him.

 

“The time has come Jon Snow.” She put her arm through his. “Come with me.”

 

 _It seems I have no choice_. He let her lead him, her skirts swishing over the steps. He baulked as he realised they were headed for her chambers. She urged him on.

 

“I must show you something.”

 

_Must you?_

 

“I’d rather not.”

 

The ruby pulsed again and Melisandre’s red eyes seemed to almost glow with it.

 

“I know of your dreams,” she said. “They will keep coming.”

 

Jon tensed. _I like this not_. He allowed her to lead him into her chambers. The fire was still burning in the hearth as it always was. _The night is dark and full of terrors_. He knew the priestess would never let it burn out.

 

“I need you to look into the flames with me Lord Snow.”

 

Jon was startled. _She cannot think I would do this_. He started to back from the room.

 

“I cannot my lady.”

 

“Lord Snow, your sister needs you and you need her. You must do this. You need answers.”

 

 _I do not believe I will get them here_.

 

“You have said you saw my sister before. You were mistaken. You might be wrong still. I do not trust your sorcery.”

 

She did not look offended.

 

“That is why you must see for yourself. Sit. Look into the flames.”

 

He did not know why he did as she asked. At first he could not focus and his eyes stung. Melisandre was muttering some strange prayer and Jon started to rise but she kept him there. Just when he was about to insist on leaving he saw shapes begin to form in the flames. He saw Winterfell as it was when he left. It was enough to keep him watching.

 

Images started to flash by, making it hard to make anything out. Suddenly everything paused. Jon saw a young woman. She looked a little as Jon remembered Arya, dark hair and grey eyes but older. She was smiling a weak smile. A silver haired man stood before her. He put his hands on her stomach. It was swollen with child.

 

The vision faded and was replaced with something terrible. It was a winged beast, a dragon full of rage. The air was filled with fire. It was a scene of destruction. Jon shrank back from it. The image was gone and all he saw now was the flames.

 

“What does it mean?” he asked.

 

“That I do not know,” Melisandre replied. "The visions are two separate events. I do not always see the dragon. I do know that I keep seeing the young woman. Is it your sister?”

 

Jon hesitated. “I don’t know. She was a girl when I saw her last.”

 

 _I am under the protection of Aegon Targaryen..._ Jon felt a shiver go down his spine as he remembered the vision of the couple. He needed answers. He thought of the dragon. It wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about the Watch as well. _I am the shield that guards the realms of men_.

 

“I have to see her. I have to go to Winterfell.”

 


	31. Chapter 31: Jon

Chapter 31: Jon

 

A large part of him still felt he shouldn’t be leaving the Wall. Ser Denys Mallister had arrived at Castle Black on errands from the Shadow Tower. He had been most displeased when Jon informed him that he would have the command in Jon’s absence. He had still accepted courteously enough but Jon could see he was not happy. Jon did not blame him. Keeping the peace was difficult enough for Jon and he had the advantage, however minor, of having some rapport with the free folk. Ser Denys could not make such a claim. He was, however, the best man to hold temporary command.

 

 _There is nobody else I can send_. Jon kept telling himself the same thing. He was almost convinced it was true. He had not been able to find anybody both willing and capable enough to ride to Winterfell, particularly after they heard the stories about Arya. The only volunteers he had were some of Stannis’ men and it was clear they were not offering in order to serve the Night’s Watch.  _They have heard she is still unmarried_. He heard them talk of the fierce and beautiful warrior maiden of Winterfell.

 

Jon might not know his little sister as he once had but he did know she would not give answers to men such as those. He also couldn’t trust those men to ask the questions he needed to ask.  _It has to be me_. He justified it as being more about his duty to the Night’s Watch than visiting family. When he had made his case to his brothers they had looked sceptical. He heard some of them grumbling but most of them had been more accepting than he had expected.  _It is more justified that the last time I said I would ride South_.

 

Jon was not going alone. Satin would accompany him as his steward. Half a dozen black brothers had agreed to come. Melisandre also would not be denied as much as Jon wanted to leave her behind. With them would be Tormund and two dozen of his men. Jon had not wanted to take free folk with him for fear of causing trouble with the lords at Winterfell but the Watch did not have the strength to spare enough men to provide a large enough escort for the new recruits. Jon had told Tormund he did not have to come but the wildling chief been hard to refuse once he heard the talk of Arya.

 

“Har, you need me Lord Crow. Who else can keep my men from trying t’ steal your little sister. Mind you, if half the tales I hear are true, I’d have half a mind t’ steal her meself.”

 

Tormund was good company on the ride to Winterfell. He laughed loudly and often. His bawdy japes kept spirits high among the free folk and the black brothers. He kept the focus away from the priestess who was thankfully silent. He also helped distract Jon. The closer Jon got to Winterfell, the more he began to feel like a boy of fifteen again.

 

Tormund let out a low whistle and his men began to exclaim as the castle came into view. Jon realised that despite the wildling’s experience in raiding, he would not have come far enough south to see a real castle. Jon was less impressed. He felt his stomach clench seeing the clear signs of destruction, the blackened stones and timber from the earlier burning. Everywhere there were signs of new construction but it would never be the same. The fingers on his sword hand opened and closed thinking about Ramsay Snow.

 

They were still some distance away when Ghost reappeared with two direwolves accompanying him. Nymeria was larger than both of them. Shaggydog looked wilder. The wolves went ahead of the group, racing towards the castle faster than the horses.

 

He heard the horn blow. He saw the sentries and when he identified himself the gates were promptly opened. There was a rather large welcoming party. Jon saw scores of curious eyes looking over their group. He knew they would make an odd sight. He searched for Arya but at first he could not pick her out. Men hurried forward to take the horses through to the stables. Orders had clearly been given to make them comfortable despite not all eyes in the crowd being friendly.

 

It wasn’t until the crowd dwindled that he saw her. He heard a female voice barking orders and saw people moving in response. The remaining onlookers parted ways and a young woman stepped between them. A boy was with her as well as a big knight and a large woman dressed as a man and wearing a sword. Both looked protective. The boy looked fierce but Jon could see he was also uncertain. He knew instantly it was Rickon. He had the Tully look, resembling Robb so much that it almost hurt Jon to see him.

 

Arya herself was harder to read. Jon searched her face. It almost looked carved from stone. He could see no flicker of expression. She was tall, no longer so dirty and skinny. Her hair was in a short braid, much tidier than he ever remembered it. She was dressed for a fight in boiled leather over woollen pants. A sword hung at her hip.  _The sword I had made for her_. Jon couldn’t help smiling to see it.

 

There was an awkward silence as they stood looking at each other. He heard the large woman next to her speak.

 

“My lady? Are you alright?”

 

It was then that Jon realised that despite her lack of facial expression, her hands were fluttering in a nervous gesture.  _She is as worried as I am_. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

 

“Arya,” he said hesitantly. “It has been so long.”

 

He was shocked to see a tear roll down her cheek. She twisted her hands together.

 

“You look so like father now.”

 

The years suddenly melted away and Jon stepped forward and swooped her into a hug. He felt her sob against him and her arms clung tightly to his neck.

 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered in his ear.

 

 _So did I little sister_. He let her go reluctantly and was surprised to see she remained expressionless. He studied her a moment. She had grown into her features and he thought she had become very pretty.  _Is she the woman from the flames?_  The more he looked at her, the more he thought she must be.

 

His thoughts were interrupted when the boy spoke.

 

“You’re my brother,” he said in a serious voice.

 

Jon looked at him.  _Brother_. It was different. Jon had always been the half-brother, the bastard brother. Rickon hadn’t qualified it.

 

“I am.”

 

Rickon looked at Arya and when she nodded, Jon was surprised to have him lunge forward and embrace him fiercely. Jon returned the gesture, meeting Arya’s eyes.  _He would not remember me. This is her doing_.

 

The reunion ended and Arya began introducing her companions. The woman was Lady Brienne of Tarth. The knight was Ser Rolly Duckfield. There was a note of pride in Arya’s voice when she introduced Jon.

 

“This is my brother, Lord Commander Jon Snow of the Night’s Watch.”

 

Lady Brienne was courteous enough. Ser Rolly was downright friendly and Jon saw a shared look between his sister and the knight.

 

“Har! Are you going to introduce us Lord Crow,” came the shout from behind.

 

He saw something flicker in Arya’s expression and hastened to make the introductions. Her face twitched as he introduced Tormund and he could tell despite the absence of a smile that she was amused with his title, especially when Tormund began to add to it.

 

“I’m pleased t’ meet this little sister I keep hearing ‘bout.” He gave her a gap-toothed smile. “I’ll have a talk with the lads. They’ll think you’re ripe for stealing.”

 

Arya broke into a wolfish grin. She began speaking in another tongue. Jon didn’t know the words but he knew it was the old tongue. Tormund bellowed laughter and responded in the same tongue, bringing a snort from Arya. Jon was confused. He had known she was learning the old tongue, he just didn’t know she would learn so fast.

 

“I like this one,” Tormund snorted. “I don’t know why you were so worried Snow.”

 

Jon looked at Arya questioningly.

 

“I said they’re welcome to try,” she explained. “I’ve been told I’m quite the spearwife.”

_I’ve been practicing my needlework._  Jon had the nagging thought again that Arya was not a little girl anymore. There was something unsafe about that grin.

Arya explained they couldn’t all fit in the castle. She had quarters for Jon but a tent had been set up for the other men. Jon was not fooled. He did not doubt that room was scarce in the castle but he knew how this worked. The lords did not want the wildlings. His sister had found a compromise.

 

“I will have food brought out when you settle in,” she directed her words to Tormund. “I’m afraid it won’t be much of a feast. There will also be some wine but we are low on that too.”

 

The free folk and black brothers retreated in the direction of the tent. All that remained was himself, Satin and Melisandre. He saw Arya’s eyes narrow.

 

“I do not understand why the priestess is here.”

 

_I do not like it either sister._

 

“The Lady Melisandre wished to speak with you.”

 

Arya’s face was an open book this time.  _The feeling is far from mutual_.

 

“I will find somewhere for her to stay,” Arya said stiffly. “I have many duties. You will not waste my time my lady.”

 

Jon glanced at Melisandre. The red woman simply smiled.  _I wonder if she saw that in her flames_.

 

They walked together into the castle, Melisandre melting away. Jon was thankful that she was not going to intrude on the whole of what little time he would have with his brother and sister. On their way to his quarters, Rickon spoke up shyly.

 

“Can I show Jon my sword skills?”

 

Arya softened as she responded. “Jon is here as Lord Commander. I don’t know if he will have time.”

 

“I can spare a little,” Jon said quickly.

 

Arya’s face lit up in a real smile. “He has lessons with Duck. Perhaps you might watch a few minutes.”

 

Jon nodded, feeling a painful twist inside.  _It is only making this harder_. It would be difficult to leave them again.

 

He saw another knight just as he began to climb the stairs. This man viewed him with open hostility. Jon ignored him. He knew he wouldn’t be welcomed by all.

 

“That is Uncle Brynden Tully,” Arya said in a low voice when they were out of earshot.

 

Jon frowned. Lady Stark was gone and yet she still found a way to make him feel unwelcome and unworthy.

 

He settled into his chambers, noticing that Ghost had followed and that Rickon lingered. Arya had left to attend to other matters. Jon instructed Satin as to his duties and the steward left to fetch the bags and belongings Jon had brought.

 

“Arya gave you one of her special smiles,” Rickon blurted.

 

“Did she?”

 

Rickon nodded, chewing on his lip.

 

“Are you really like father?”

 

 _Rickon doesn’t remember him_. Jon thought of how to answer the question.

 

“People say I am.”

 

The boy fell silent.

 

“Does Arya smile much?” Jon prompted, feeling guilty for manipulating his young brother.

 

Rickon shook his head.

 

“She smiles but not real smiles. She keeps her special smiles for me sometimes and Duck. Sometimes Brienne. Sometimes I see it when she talks about...”

 

“About what?” Jon prompted.

 

“I’m not supposed to say,” Rickon mumbled.

 

“The prince,” Jon guessed.

 

Rickon went a little pale and put his fingers to his lips in a gesture clearly imitated from elsewhere. “There are ears,” he whispered.

 

Jon nodded.  _There are indeed_.

 


	32. Chapter 32: Jon

Chapter 32: Jon

 

When Jon emerged from his chambers he found that Arya was gone. He went outside and heard raucous laughter from the tent where the men were. He watched a moment and was surprised to see Arya trading bawdy japes with Tormund and his men. The food and wine had arrived. She seemed to spot Jon’s presence easily.

 

“Har! Your sister was just making up for t’ lack of wine by sharing tales of your youth”

 

 _I do not like the sound of that_.

 

“He teases you Jon,” Arya smirked. “I have just been hearing about his impressive member.”

 

Jon felt himself flush. Tormund roared with laughter.

 

“Don’t go telling him that girl. Lord Crow will have my head for corrupting his little sister.”

 

“Who says you are the one who corrupted me,” Arya shot back.

 

Jon sighed and was relieved to see Arya moving his way.  _The Lady of Winterfell_. He would not want to imagine Catelyn Stark’s face. They walked together to the great hall for dinner. A place had been made for him on the dais. He saw that Arya took the seat that their father used to take. Rickon was at her side as was the Lady Brienne and a disapproving Brynden Tully.

 

Jon ate quietly, only speaking when others came to speak with him. A great many of the men in the castle seemed to want to meet with him. He was kept back well after dinner. Arya had left but as the hall began to empty he saw that Ser Rolly remained. The big man was watching him closely. When he rose, the knight moved swiftly to accompany him.

 

“I am quite alright Ser.”

 

The knight stubbornly remained with him. “The little lady gave me instructions.”

 

Jon smiled.  _He is loyal_. “I do not need protection.”

 

“That may well be but I’m staying anyway.”

 

“Doesn’t my sister need you?” Jon asked.

 

The big man grinned. “Less than you do.”

 

Ghost fell in step with them and Jon noted that Ser Rolly was not put off by the direwolf.

 

“She thought you might want to see the prisoners,” he said. “I can show you.”

 

Jon nodded and walked with the knight to the dungeons.

 

“She didn’t want to be here?” he asked.

 

The big man grinned again. “She thought it better she wasn’t. They don’t like her much.”

 

Jon was surprised how many were coming to Castle Black. Not only were they willing, they almost seemed eager. Ser Rolly was nonchalant as he pointed to each one until he stopped in front of a cell containing a boy. He would have been lucky to be fourteen. The knight scowled.

 

“What did this one do?” Jon asked curiously.

 

The big man spat “He tried to poison Lady Arya.” He glared in at the boy. “You’d best watch out as you leave with him. The little lord is likely to try to set the wolf on him before he can get away.”

 

The fingers on Jon’s sword hand opened and closed. He had to make himself walk away. Ser Rolly kept with him all the way to his quarters. He paused at the doorway.

 

“I was there the day they told her you died.”

 

Jon felt his throat constrict. “I did not know Ser.”

 

“Call me Duck,” he replied. “Don’t ever do that to her again.”

 

 _I will try_. Duck left him with Ghost and he crawled into his bed. For the first night in more than five years he was sleeping at home-Except it was no longer home.

 

He woke to find a maid bringing food to his room. It was still very early.

 

“I apologise for waking you m’lord,” she said. “M’lady rises early and thought you might do the same.”

 

Jon nodded and accepted what she had brought. After he broke his fast, he decided to seek out Arya. Duck found him rather quickly.

 

“She has gone riding. She and that priestess had words. The little lady was most unhappy.”

 

_She did warn you priestess._

The day had only just begun and Jon already felt weary. He walked with Duck to the training yard where Rickon was eagerly waiting. He smiled when he saw Jon.

 

“Will you watch me?”

 

Jon nodded. Duck brought out tourney swords and Jon was pleased to see that the big man knew what he was doing.

 

“You have experience in teaching arms,” he observed.

 

“Duck was a master-at-arms,” Rickon announced. “He taught Prince Aegon.”

 

Jon couldn’t help a frown. He was distracted when Arya appeared next to him. He hadn’t heard her approach. If she was still unhappy she wasn’t showing it. Her hair had come free of her braid during her ride. Jon tentatively flicked at it and was rewarded with a smile.

 

“Arya,” Rickon called out. “Are you going to spar with Duck today?”

 

Jon saw her shoot an uncertain look at him. He was reminded of the vision in the flames.  _She should not be fighting_.

 

“Should you be...” he began to say.

 

She scowled. “Prepare to be beaten Duck.”

 

Jon was rather taken aback. She had said she had become good but she had hidden how good she was. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen somebody move so fast and her reaction time and anticipation of her opponent was almost beyond belief. Duck yielded more than once and was breathing hard when they were finished. Arya looked like she had not broken a sweat.

 

“Where did you learn that?” Jon asked when she joined him.

 

She tensed. “I had a Braavosi instructor.”

 

They walked together from the training yard.

 

“I need to speak with you,” Jon began.

 

“I know,” Arya said abruptly.

 

He followed her. He realised quickly where they were headed. Nymeria began to follow and he saw Ghost join her. The heart tree loomed in front of them.

 

“I come here when I want to know I am alone,” Arya explained.

 

He sat with her in front of the tree, memories rushing back to him. He almost thought he heard a whisper in the trees “ _King_.” He looked around.

 

“I sometimes think I’m going mad,” Arya said softly.

 

 _Did she hear it too?_  Jon was too afraid to ask. He tried not to be obvious looking at her. She did not look to be with child but it was hard to tell with the way she was dressed. He had to look away quickly when she caught him. He saw her scowl.

 

“There are things I need to tell you,” he said quickly.

 

He expected her to question him. To say he was mad. To say he was imagining Old Nan’s stories come to life but she didn’t. She watched his face closely as he told her of the wights and of the Others. He explained how only fire could stop the wights and that dragonglass was needed to defeat the Others.

 

“We will win this fight,” he told her, guarding his expression. “We know how to kill them, we _have_ killed them. You must not worry.”

 

She took his hand.

 

“It has been hard for you,” she said softly. “I learned things when I was in Braavos. I cannot tell you all of it.” She looked down. “I will tell you what I can.”

 

Jon looked at her intently.

 

“You have heard the prophecy from the red woman. She would say the darkness is gathering. I do not know that I believe in prophecy but the dragons are coming.”

 

Jon scowled this time. “The priestess talks constantly of waking the stone dragon.”

 

“They have already been woken,” Arya replied. “Daenerys Targaryen has three dragons. She has been in the East but she will return to Westeros. She should be on her way now.”

 

Jon was sceptical but he did not want to argue with her.

 

“We could use dragons,” he said, trying to push the dream and the vision in the flames out of his mind, “but right now we need dragonglass. Stannis was going to have it brought from Dragonstone but while he was fighting in the North the Tyrells took the castle.”

 

Arya’s face lit up. Her smile was almost radiant. “No. Aegon holds Dragonstone. He wrote me. He took it from the Tyrells.”

 

Jon felt his heart sink at her happiness.  _It is true_. Her smile dropped and she gave him a queer look.

 

“Write to him,” she said. “He will send the dragonglass.”

 

“The Watch wrote to all those who claimed to be Kings,” Jon said bitterly. “Stannis was the only one who aided us.”

 

She scowled again. “Did you ask Aegon?”

“No,” Jon conceded.

 

“Ask. He won’t say no.”

 

She pulled her hand from his and began to twist her fingers together, just as she had when he had first arrived.  _She is nervous about telling me something_. He heard her take a deep breath. When she looked up her expression was hopeful.

 

“Aegon said he could legitimise you. He knows you can’t hold lands or titles but you could have father’s name.”

 

 _Oh Arya_.

 

“What did he want in return,” Jon said stiffly.

 

She flushed. “He didn’t want anything.”

 

Jon tried to soften it. He tried to sound gentle. “Kings always want something.”

 

Her expression darkened. “You don’t know him,” she snapped. “He is a good man. He is my friend. He thought it would make you happy.”

 

 _No_  Jon thought.  _The Prince thought it would make my little sister happy._ He began to feel old. He looked at Arya again and this time he didn’t look away. She tensed.

 

“What have you heard?” she asked abruptly.

 

Jon almost flinched at her tone.

 

“I need to ask you something.”

 

She looked away. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

 

Jon pressed on. “Are you to marry him?”

 

The response was abrupt. “No. It is planned for him to be consort to Daenerys.”

 

Jon paled. “You would raise the child a bastard?”

 

Her expression became confused. “What child?” When his meaning became clear it was her turn to pale. Jon was not prepared for her reaction. She shot to her feet, her face a mix of horror and outrage. “Do you think I’m  _stupid_?”

 

 _I do not know what to think little sister_. He did not answer.

 

“I am  _not_  having a child,” she fumed.

 

Arya’s voice and expression reminded Jon of Ygritte.  _You know nothing Jon Snow._  He was speechless a moment. “I saw...”

 

She didn’t let him finish. “I don’t care what you think you saw. You were wrong.” Her eyes blazed.

 

Jon felt relief wash over him. “He did not dishonour you.”

 

She flushed and wouldn’t look at him. Jon sighed.  _She really isn’t a little girl anymore_. When she was able to look at him again her voice was small.

 

“It was not dishonour. Please don’t hate me.”

 

He stood and put his arms around her. She tensed at first before accepting the embrace. “I don’t hate you Arya. I could never do that.”

 

Arya only let him hold her briefly before pulling away. He could see she was still bothered. She gave him a smack in the arm and the familiarity of it almost made him smile.

 

“Why did you think I was with child?”

 

Jon felt embarrassed.  _I should not have listened to Melisandre_. He heard a sudden movement and saw Arya tense again.

 

“He saw it in the flames.”

 

Jon spun to look in the direction of the voice and saw that the priestess had joined them. It was immediately uncomfortable. He could see it in Arya’s bearing and he felt it himself. He glanced at the heart tree.

 

 _The red woman should not be here_.

 

“Your flames seem to be wrong a lot,” Arya retorted.

 

Melisandre did not lose her composure.

 

“The visions seen are those the Lord of Light sends. Some are from days long past, others from the present and then there are those yet to come. Some visions are of things that will happen in the next day, the next moon, perhaps a year from now.”

 

Arya smirked but Jon could see anger in her eyes. The expressionless girl had disappeared for now and his sister was clearly furious. “That is a convenient way to excuse your mistakes. I am not going to have a child.”

 

Melisandre’s red eyes focused on Jon rather than Arya. He began to feel uncomfortable.

 

“The flames do not lie. The child is important.”

 

_A sword without a hilt._

 

Melisandre fingered the ruby at her throat. “Did you ask about the dragon?”

Jon pictured the vision of the beast.  _No and I will not_.

 

“Arya has told me of dragons,” he said instead.

 

The priestess nodded and stared at Arya. Jon saw that his sister did not back down. Instead she met the red woman’s gaze, her lips set in a grim line.

 

“I wish to be left alone. Do not come to me again priestess.”

 

Jon left Arya in the godswood. Melisandre walked with him but he was so angry that he would not speak with her. She tried to talk with him but he brushed her off.

 

He could not linger in Winterfell, no matter how much he wanted to. He arranged for the prisoners to be brought out of the cells. By the time the men had taken charge of them it was well into the afternoon. Jon sought out Arya, feeling apprehensive. He found her in her solar.

 

“I will be leaving soon.”

 

She looked at her hands rather than at him. He cleared his throat.

 

“Are you angry with me?”

 

“No” she said quickly. “I’m angry with the priestess.” She looked up at him. “Please be careful around her. I don’t want you to become like Stannis.”

 

“I won’t” he assured her.

 

 _I have learned my lesson_.

 

Arya stood and hesitantly took his hands.

 

“I am going to get justice for our family. I have been talking with Uncle Brynden and the Stark bannermen. There will be war.”

 

He could hear the anger in her voice.

 

“Don’t you want to be home?” he asked her.

 

Arya lowered her eyes. When she looked up again she was defiant.

 

“It was all I wanted for a long time but look at it.” She gestured at the wall, at the damage. “It isn’t home, not without _them_ , not like this.” Her voice trembled but she regained her composure. “Our bannermen will not rest until they get justice. If I do not give it to them the Starks will look weak, we will give them reason to rebel.” She lifted her chin. “I want justice too.”

 

 _South is not where the true war lies_ he thought. Arya almost seemed to know what he was thinking.

 

“The North needs allies in the South. We cannot do this on our own.”

 

He felt a sense of foreboding.  _The Night’s Watch takes no part_. Still he couldn’t help asking what she planned.

 

She hesitated. “The Blackfish said it should not be spoken of”

 

Jon couldn’t help feeling hurt. “He does not trust me.”

 

She was quick to reassure him. “It is not settled yet. We need to work out how to take the Dreadfort and Moat Cailin. The proper talks have only just begun.” She paused and looked at the floor. “It is not that you are not trusted, I know you cannot take part. I keep getting told. I do not want to make trouble for you.”

 

 _That did not stop me advising Stannis_.

 

He quickly gave her his own advice, wishing that she wasn’t doing this and at the same time wishing he was going to ride with them. She held him tightly when he went to leave.

 

“I cannot watch you leave. The others will see you out.”

 

She made a forlorn figure as he left her in her solar. He remembered Duck’s advice as he rode out with the men, keeping Ghost close and keeping a look out for Shaggydog. Rickon was clearly brimming with anger as the men from the cells departed, all of them looking glad to be leaving Winterfell.

 

Jon looked over his shoulder at what used to be his home and sighed.  _This may be the last time I see it_.

 


	33. Chapter 33: Aegon

Chapter 33: Aegon

Aegon winced as he rose from his bed. His shoulder was healing but it was still painful if he moved too quickly. Actually, it was still a little painful even if he moved slowly but the pain was getting more bearable.

 

He dismissed the man who rushed forward to help him get dressed, preferring to just grit his teeth and do it himself. Trying to push his arm through sleeves was the worst part but he managed it, cursing under his breath. He had turned down milk of the poppy from the maester. He almost regretted that decision but he wanted to be lucid enough to be out of bed and exploring the castle.

 

He broke his fast with a meagre offering. He never had much appetite right now when he first woke. As soon as he was done he left his solar with his guards. He visited the sept first. He had received a report on it but he wanted to see it for himself. What he saw angered him. The seven had indeed been burnt.

 

_Stannis and his red woman have a lot to answer for._

He knelt there for a moment, praying for guidance just as Lemore taught him and hoped that his prayer might be heard even though the seven had been destroyed. When he rose, he asked to be taken to Aegon’s Garden.

 

It wasn’t quite what he expected. He had heard about it but being there was completely different. It seemed like a different world from the rest of the castle and from many of the places he had been. He breathed in the fresh scent of pine and wandered around looking at the plants growing in the garden. He stopped by the wild roses, fingering the petals.  _Arya would like it here_.

 

He lingered there until he was forced to leave. He ate quickly then headed for the Stone Drum. Lord Connington had come to see him and they met in the Chamber of the Painted Table. Aegon stopped and inspected the map of Westeros as it was in the time of Aegon the Conqueror. He was genuinely interested in it though his interest had the advantage of avoiding Connington’s cold gaze. The man was disappointed in him and Aegon knew he deserved it.

 

“I know it was foolish,” he said defensively. “I will be more careful in future.”

 

Connington exhaled and his face took on a far away look. “We all make mistakes in our youth.”

 

_He is remembering the battle which got him exiled._

Aegon changed the subject. Neither of them really needed to be dwelling on past mistakes.

 

“I received a raven from the Night’s Watch.”

 

It had been tersely worded. Arya’s brother had clearly not wanted to write and Aegon suspected that Jon Snow thought his request would be refused. Aegon knew Snow had been in contact with Arya. That was the only way he could have known Aegon held Dragonstone. He wondered how much Arya’s brother knew.

 

Connington looked suspicious. “What do they want?”

 

“They want dragonglass. I asked about it. It is also called obsidian. There is a lot of it here.”

 

Connington’s reply was abrupt. “We cannot spare the men.”

 

Aegon bristled. “Those who mine it are not fighting men.”

 

Lord Connington did not relent. “If they are strong enough to be in the mines, they are strong enough to fight.”

 

_He is stubborn but so am I._

 

“I keep getting told I have a duty to the realm,” Aegon argued. “I would expect that to involve more than sitting my arse on a throne.”

 

Connington frowned. “You have already decided.”

 

“I have. They have been told to begin mining it. I will write back.”

 

Pale eyes narrowed. “Is this because of  _her_.”

 

“No,” Aegon said quickly. It was only half a lie.

 

The discussion changed to the subject of the war. Taking Dragonstone had positioned them to make an incursion into the riverlands, beginning in the crownlands by landing at Crackclaw Point and from there marching on to Maidenpool. They just needed to gather ships, not an easy feat.

 

“They will be wary of us,” Connington conceded “Many of the riverland Houses took up the rebel’s cause.”

 

“The riverlands Houses also turned on the Lannisters after Lord Stark was executed,” Aegon argued. “If we made it clear we will not hold them accountable for what happened in the rebellion-“

 

Connington stiffened. “They helped bring the downfall of your House.”

 

“My grandfather brought the downfall of my House,” Aegon argued. “I know what he did. You should have told me earlier.”

 

They had argued about this before. Aegon was still bruised at the secrets which had been kept from him. Part of him hadn’t wanted to accept the story of what Aerys had done. When he asked Connington about it, his expression was confirmation. Aegon had been told some of Aerys but mostly he had heard filtered stories of the Baratheon usurper and his followers who had stolen the throne. He now knew that it was not that simple.

 

“My father might still be alive if my grandfather hadn’t killed them. I will not love those who helped the usurper but I know the true enemy. It is the Baratheons and Lannisters and the people who now keep them in power even after knowing what they did.” Aegon curled his lip. “Even after they murdered my sister and mother and thought they had murdered me.”

 

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Connington muttered.

 

Aegon could see he still wasn’t happy but he wasn’t arguing. It was a good sign. They parted and Aegon made his way back to his chambers. He had exerted himself more that day than he had in a long while and he was now feeling weary.

 

He started as he opened the door to his bedchamber. His guards melted away and he wanted to curse them. A woman sat in his bed. She was slight with dark hair and for a brief moment Aegon allowed himself to hope until she turned to face him.  _It isn’t her_. Of course it wasn’t. He knew she was in Winterfell.

 

The woman was naked and Aegon wrenched his gaze from her. The sight had stirred him and he was angry with himself. He picked up a cloak and threw it in her direction.

 

“Put this on.”

 

She sounded wounded. “Have I displeased m’lord?”

 

He glanced up at her, averting his gaze quickly again when he saw that while she had picked up the cloak, she still hadn’t covered herself.

 

“I don’t fuck whores,” he said abruptly.

 

She rose from the bed and Aegon was relieved to see she was now covered. She shot him a scathing look as she made her retreat. Aegon put it down to the rejection. When she was clear of his quarters he found his guards.

 

“I don’t know whose idea it was but make sure they don’t try it again.”

 

It was much more difficult to rest after that. His mind was too occupied with thoughts of women, particularly Arya. What he had told his unwelcome visitor hadn’t been completely true. They had taken him to a whorehouse to make a man out of him. The lessons had been rather thorough. Connington had been wroth when he found out.

 

_It is not honourable for a prince to fuck whores._

 

Lord Connington had wanted to punish those who went with him. There had been much talk of the risk of getting one of the women with child. There had been reminders of Aegon the Unworthy and Connington had seethed over the risk to Aegon’s person if they found out who he was.

 

_I felt like a fool._

 

The lecture had stung but Aegon had taken it to heart. He hadn’t touched another woman until he met Arya. He did not meant to pursue her either. He did not quite know how it began, only that he was drawn to her honesty and her kindness and her wit. She might have lied to begin but she did not lie when she gave him counsel and she seemed to think he really could mend the realm, even if her views on how differed from those of his other advisers.

 

 _I needed her affection too._ She gave it to him freely for all her protests and the need for secrecy. Aegon had not known how lonely he really was until he experienced Arya’s embraces.

 

She was distancing herself. He hadn’t heard from her since he sent the raven to tell her of Dragonstone. He was trying to follow her lead and he hated how difficult it was. He hated how weak she made him but he only had to picture her and to think of their conversations, to think of riding with her, fighting with her, making love to her to know that what he felt was not wrong. He wondered what it was that drew him to such a dangerous woman. Perhaps it was his Dornish blood. Perhaps it was the Targaryen madness trying to set in. He didn’t know.

 

He wasn’t alone though. Tales had travelled as far as Dragonstone of the warrior maiden of Winterfell who refused to marry. He smiled to hear how she humiliated her would be suitors. He had felt a pang of jealousy towards those who were able to be so close to her. It consoled him to hear she wouldn’t have any of them. She had told him she wouldn’t marry but part of him had still doubted.

 

Days continued to pass and Aegon’s pain lessened. He knew he would need to move soon. Connington had managed to access some ships, Aegon wanted to be ready to leave with them. It was his sole focus until he received two ravens in close succession. The first was from Winterfell and he opened it eagerly. The contents disappointed him.

 

_Prince Aegon,_

_My sister, the Lady Arya, told me of your injury. I am sorry. I hope you recover quickly. We are well here. We are preparing to call our banners. The Dreadfort and Moat Cailin must fall. Our family has waited long enough._

_Lord Rickon_

_Lord of Winterfell_

 

It was in Arya’s hand. He didn’t doubt that Rickon had some involvement. Arya was not dishonest, she would not write a letter from her brother if he was not party to it. The message was clear. She was trying to tell him to move on. He was to think of Daenerys, not her. He sighed heavily.

 

The last part of the letter sounded like Arya.  _She is as reckless as I am_. He could not help feeling fear thinking about it. The Northern army was depleted. The gathering he had seen was weak, full of injured men. They had taken time to recover but he did not think their ranks would have swelled in that time. If anything, the lack of action had probably caused some to head for their homes.

 

He was still dwelling on it when the second raven arrived. These tidings were from Storm’s End and had a different tone. Tommen Baratheon was dead. The circumstances sounded strange. The boy king had been thrown from his horse and trampled to death. His sister Myrcella was to be crowned queen of Westeros.

 

Connington was triumphant. He wasn’t a man to cheer and gloat with words but Aegon saw the gleam in his eye. Haldon seemed to find it amusing.

 

“They are weak now. The time is ripe. A girl is all that stands in our way.”

 

Myrcella might be a girl. She was also a disfigured girl who was said to be betrothed to Prince Trystane of Dorne. Aegon was not stupid. It was not going to be as easy as what it might appear. Dorne could certainly not be counted on now.

 

They continued with their plans and the ships began to drop anchor around the castle. Aegon was readying himself to leave when two more ravens arrived from King’s Landing. He opened them, curious as to what the Lannisters and Tyrells would be doing writing to him. The first he simply set aside after reading. The second he could barely believe. He crushed the parchment in his hand.

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this one starts off overlapping with part of chapter 32. We needed to see what happened between Arya and Melisandre before Jon and Arya spoke and it turned a tad awkward.

**Chapter 34**

 

The red woman had somehow moved quietly enough that she had almost, almost caught Arya unawares. Arya had broken her fast and was creeping about the castle, quiet as a shadow, being the ghost in Winterfell. The men were distracted by the presence of the visitors and Arya had been let off her normal duties. She had time to fill in before Rickon’s lesson and Jon hadn’t been seen yet so she watched and listened.

 

The red woman got close but Arya heard the swish of her skirts. It was odd that she hadn’t heard her footsteps. She smelled her as she heard her. It was strange, she even  _smelled_  red. Arya spun to face her.

 

“Why are you being sneaky priestess?”

 

The woman looked amused.

 

“I believe you know the power in being able to move undetected lady Arya.”

 

Arya kept her face a mask.  _She has been watching me_. She began to stalk off but the red woman kept pace with her, refusing to take the hint that Arya did not want to speak with her.

 

“I know you are not an unbeliever.”

 

Arya tried to hide her frown. _Thoros was different._ She heard footsteps and was relieved to see Duck approaching.

 

“That does not mean I want to talk to  _you_ ,” she retorted. “I’m not as stupid as Stannis.”

 

The priestess gave the slightest flinch and Arya knew she had hit her mark.

 

“The Lord of Light shows me things but I am a mere mortal. I have been guilty of misinterpreting his messages but that does not stop me being his messenger.”

 

Duck was getting closer and she saw him frowning.

 

“It will stop me from listening to your messages though,” Arya shot back.

 

“Even if my messages are about your brother?”

 

Arya froze despite herself. The red woman smiled.

 

“I see the darkness in you but there is still light as well. Your love for your brothers is that light. You should cling to it. They need you. Others are just a distraction from your true purpose.”

 

 _Dark heart_. Arya tried to suppress a shiver at the reminder. She lost her composure at the insinuations the priestess was making.

 

“Don’t talk to me of my family,” she said angrily. “My family was taken from me. I was the lone wolf.”

 

“No longer,” the woman said softly. “Jon Snow needs you. He needs me too. He does not truly believe. He could do great things.”

 

Arya turned on her.

 

“You will  _not_  use my brother! I will not help you corrupt him!”

 

She felt a hand on her arm and realised Duck had joined them. He was glowering at Melisandre.

 

“Is the priestess bothering you little lady?”

 

“She is,” Arya said abruptly “but no longer. I am going riding. Make sure she does not follow me and keep her from Jon if you can. I mislike her influence.”

 

“Aye,” Duck replied.

 

Arya had not stayed to see what happened between them but she had trusted Duck to do as she asked. When she returned from riding she found Jon watching Duck and Rickon. After that it had become very awkward.

 

 _Even if I wanted to I can’t do what she says._ Jon had told her that he could win the fight. Arya would not doubt her brother. That would be like opposing their father. Jon really did look like him now. _I have to hold the North together._ She _wanted_ to have Jon stay but he couldn’t and if Arya went to the Wall now then Rickon would be left vulnerable with men who wanted to have vengeance. He was only a boy and he could not see things as she did.

 

_Rickon would be in danger._

 

The last part of Melisandre’s warnings made her angry. Arya knew who the others were who were considered a distraction. The priestess did not know anything. Arya was not distracted. She had parted from Aegon.

 

 _Stupid priestess_. Arya had not wanted to talk of Aegon with Jon. She had felt shame when he suggested she was with child, shame quickly followed by fury and she could still see the dismay on his face when he knew she had let Aegon into her bed and the embarrassment he felt at his mistaken assumption.  _No, not his mistake_  she fumed,  _it was the red woman_.

 

Arya could at least console herself that the woman had lost her influence over Jon. She had seen how angry he was when Melisandre tried to speak with him afterwards.  _He will not be taken in by false messages again so easily_.

 

The priestess had been right. Arya was a believer. She had not forgotten Thoros and Lord Beric. Lord Beric had been dead, she had seen it and the red god had brought him back. Arya did not worship the red god but she did believe. She knew the red woman had power too but the way she used it was dangerous. The priestess made too many mistakes. Relying on her messages might get Jon killed and Arya did not want that, not again.

 

She still remembered what the Kindly man had said of the many faced god. She still remembered the teachings. It was hard to forget after the years spent in the House of Black and White. Arya supposed that the red god was one of the many faces. The kindly man had told her over and over that death was a gift, that it was an end to suffering. Arya had tried to obey, to serve so they would not send her away but in the end they were right when they had told her she did not belong, that she could not pay the price.

 

Arya could take lives, she could give the ‘gift’ but she could not blindly serve. She could not kill only the names they gave her and there were names she could not and would not give the gift to. She did not see it as a ‘gift’ when it took away people she cared about. She also now knew that a god would not take pleasure from good people being killed for gold, at least she thought a god wouldn’t. If that was true then it was not a god she could serve.

 

Arya did not pray to the gods, not really. She spoke in front of the heart tree sometimes but her prayer was something else.  _Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei,The Freys_. She was confused after the red woman left with Jon. She was confused and angry. She could not understand why the woman had seen a vision that would make them think she would be having Aegon’s child. She remembered Stannis and fought not to frown.  _People use their gods to do what they want, to believe what they want_.

 

Arya knew she looked outwardly calm but inside she still fumed days after Jon had left. Brienne and Duck knew her moods now, they had picked up on the subtle clues she couldn’t hide. The Blackfish knew something had happened but didn’t press her. She knew he blamed Jon.  _It isn’t fair_. Rickon knew she was angry because Nymeria gave it away.

 

The only person who really seemed to have some understanding was Brienne. The Lady of Tarth had seen Arya argue with the Lady Melisandre and when they spoke afterwards Arya had immediately realised that Brienne had some knowledge of the red god. The Lady of Tarth did not want to talk about it. She got that tortured look she often wore when Arya tried to press her on things so Arya let her be. She did confide in her though.

 

Brienne had met Thoros. She had met the brotherhood. There was something the Lady of Tarth did not want to tell her but she did tell Arya that the brotherhood was killing Freys. Lem and Tom were still there. Gendry was still there. Arya hadn’t thought of him in years and she couldn’t help showing her curiosity.

 

She was puzzled to see Brienne blush talking of Gendry. When she prodded her about it, this time Brienne did speak. Arya did not understand at first when Brienne began to talk of serving Renly Baratheon. She did see the Lady of Tarth get that look Sansa used to get when she spoke of the knights in her songs.

 

“Stannis killed him,” Brienne insisted.

 

Arya studied her. She remembered the way Brienne looked when they took Stannis down into the crypts.

 

“He killed his own brother?”

 

She couldn’t believe it but she could see Brienne did.

 

 _I would have killed the man who did that to somebody I loved._  She could see Brienne wanted to, even if she did not speak of it.

 

“Gendry looks like him,” Brienne admitted.

 

Arya tried hard not to bite her lip. “Gendry looks like Renly?”

 

“Yes,” Brienne replied. “Though I think he favours his father more.”

 

Arya felt confused. “His father?”

 

“Robert Baratheon.”

 

Arya went quiet.  _Gendry didn’t know his father_. She tried to think back. She couldn’t remember King Robert well and her opinion of him was much lower now after knowing Aegon. He might have been her father’s friend but he had done bad things. She did remember his black hair and she remembered Gendry’s was the same.

 

“He still talks of you,” Brienne said.

 

“Who?” Arya asked absentmindedly.

 

“Gendry.”

 

She was startled and when she saw Brienne’s expression she was immediately uncomfortable. _Gendry wasn’t like that._ Gendry was her friend. She made an excuse to be on her own and stepped outside.  _King Robert wanted my Aunt_  she remembered. A shiver went down her spine. She knew how that had ended but the Gendry she remembered was not his father. She could only hope he still wasn’t.

 

It was a frigid day. Arya could almost feel the snow in the air.  _Jon will not have an easy trip back to the Wall_. His short visit and quick departure had made her think of the other Starks who were not in Winterfell. Rickon was here and she felt a connection to him now. She thought of Sansa. She did not believe her sister was dead but there was no trace of her. She thought of Bran. She wondered if he was still alive and if so, where would he be? She knew he and Rickon had escaped Winterfell at the same time but Rickon would not speak of him. There had been no sign of Bran but sometimes in Arya’s wolf dreams she felt him. It felt as though he tried to speak to her.

 

Rickon had managed to make it all the way to Skagos. Arya herself had made it to Braavos and was not found until she wanted to be found. Sansa had hidden herself well. Even if Bran was crippled Arya knew he was not alone. It appeared that the remaining Starks were good at escaping detection.

 

Arya had made herself busy writing letters. She had been slow replying to Aegon and she and Rickon wrote the reply together. She knew Aegon would be unhappy but Arya needed to try and make herself think of other things.  _He is not mine and I am not his_. Certain dreams had prompted her recently to wake in the night aching to be touched. Every time she told herself she hated him for it.  _Stupid man, he did this to me_. She never wanted it before.

 

She distracted herself by writing the letters to the Stark bannermen. The ravens began to be sent out and Arya saw Rickon becoming more difficult.

 

The chatter in the castle rose when news spread that Tommen Baratheon had died. Arya was suspicious about the story. Kings did not usually die from being thrown from their horse. She did not dwell on it. He was a Lannister, Joffrey’s brother and Queen Cersei’s son. Arya was not sorry he was dead.  _Valar morghulis._

 

Myrcella Baratheon was to be crowned queen. Arya wasn’t really surprised. She knew Myrcella had come back to King’s Landing from Dorne. She was known to be betrothed to Trystane Martell. Arya did not remember much about Myrcella. She had been younger than Arya. She heard whispers that Cersei would continue to rule as regent.

 

The bannermen began to arrive. Robett Glover was one of the first. Not long after him was Wylis Manderley and Alysane Mormont. She did not know what Lord Wyman was doing, he spoke quietly with his son and Arya noted Wylis had brought the men Arya knew had been pledged to Stannis. The Young She-Bear surprised Arya too. Alysane took a knee when she met her.

 

“I apologise my lady, I would have been here earlier but I escorted Jeyne Poole to the Wall and was caught travelling when you arrived here.”

 

Arya promptly asked her to rise. The woman interested her. Apart from the free folk and Brienne, Arya hadn’t really known women as warriors. Alysane was fierce looking and she wore mail. The first time she saw Arya sparring in the training yard she smiled a toothy grin and took a seat in a prime position to jape good-naturedly at each of Arya’s conquered foes.

 

Arya soon found she enjoyed testing Aly’s skill and although Arya did not give her trust easily, she quite liked the woman from Bear Island. She tried to forget what their letter had said.  _I do not want to be queen and I do not think Rickon wants to be king_. She was glad the She-Bear did not bring it up.

 

The new arrivals gave Arya plenty to listen to. She crept quietly, listening to determine who could be trusted and watching their faces as they spoke. That was how she heard something they had been trying to keep from her. It was Robett Glover, Whoresbane Umber and Lord Wyman who gave it away.

 

“He must be mad,” Robett said, shaking his head.

 

“It was an opportunity to have the throne all but given to him,” Whoresbane responded, spitting at the thought. “Our Lady of Winterfell will not be happy.”

 

Lord Wyman had that look again, the one he got when Arya knew he had secret thoughts he would not speak. “I would not have thought anybody so willing to marry into the family who killed his own.”

 

“He will be king then,” Robett Glover said, sounding like he had a sour taste in his mouth. “Sixth of his name and all of us be damned.”

 

Arya emerged from her hiding place making them all jump out of their skin. The Whoresbane cursed loudly, Ser Robett paled and Lord Wyman looked amused.

 

“Tell me what you are talking about,” Arya demanded.

 

Lord Wyman smiled an odd smile. “If you have heard any of our conversation I think you know my lady. Prince Aegon is to marry Queen Myrcella.”

 

Arya could not fully control her reaction. “Lies,” she hissed.

 

She heard them talking as she stalked off from them. The Whoresbane had recovered from his shock. “The girl took that better than I’d expect.”

 

She kept her face a mask over the next days while the whispers grew and anger mounted. Two ravens soon arrived bearing the Targaryen seal. One was addressed to Rickon, the other to Arya. Arya read hers privately, smiling at the contents. Almost all of the bannermen had now arrived in Winterfell. Rickon’s letter was shared with all present.

 

_Lord Rickon,_

_It has come to my attention that the Lannister’s are spreading falsehoods that I am to marry Myrcella Baratheon. These lies are an insult to my House and the many others injured by the Lannisters and I believe are intended to cause enmity between us. House Lannister has committed atrocities against my family and yours and all of those who attended what is known as the Red Wedding._

_I am writing to assure you that I will hold them accountable. These lies will not go unpunished. I am not sure that the North will consider me a friend after the actions of my grandfather but I do not wish for us to be enemies. I hope this letter will reassure you that I would never seek an alliance with the people who have inflicted such pain on the realm._

_Aegon Targaryen_

 

The letter was passed around and Arya could see the men thinking. She could tell Aegon had agonised over the wording. It was not his usual impulsive style. She felt their eyes on her and heard her name whispered more than once. Finally one of them had the courage to tell her what they were thinking.

 

“My lady,” Big Wull said. “Forgive me but Lord Rickon mentioned you had received a raven too.”

 

Arya smiled what she suspected was a wicked smile. “I did. Would my Lords like to read it?”

 

They looked taken aback by the offer. Arya would never have shown them her letters from Aegon but this one contained no declarations of love. He had written it in anger. She had been a little shocked. He didn’t lose his temper often but he must have been furious when he wrote it. The parchment was almost torn in places.

 

She produced the letter with a smirk. “I must warn you, the language is colourful. We knew each other at Storm’s End and as you know I say what I think. I was no different with him and he responds in kind.” She passed the parchment to Robett Glover. She had taken to inviting a different bannerman to sit on the dais with her each day and today was Ser Robett’s turn.

 

He didn’t get far into it the letter before he almost choked on his wine. When he cleared the obstruction he was laughing so much he couldn’t speak for a moment. Arya hadn’t seen more than a smile from him before now. Whoresbane leapt up and snatched the parchment from him to see what was so amusing and promptly burst into laughter himself.

 

“Mace Tyrell tried to make him a match with Margaery in exchange for Highgarden’s support,” he chortled.

 

Ser Robett had managed to regain the power of speech. “Tried and failed you mean,” he smirked.

 

One of the Flints was now reading it and he hooted. “He says he’d rather be joined to the stableboy than marry either Lannister or the Lannister widow.”

 

Arya let herself laugh with them but she watched the room carefully. Not everybody was finding it amusing.

 

“I understand him refusing the Lannister whelp but he refused Highgarden support?” Lord Wyman asked, his tone more serious.

 

Arya interjected. “He does not need to marry Margaery to have the Reach,” she said quietly, looking around the room. “Highgarden is almost alone in opposing him, the Stormlands have fallen and the rest of the Reach has fallen or sworn fealty. There was word from Randyll Tarly just after I arrived here. It is expected that he will withdraw support from the Lannisters. Dorne may follow now that they have heard that the Lannisters would break the betrothal. I do know they won’t oppose Aegon.”

 

Shrewd eyes were set on Arya. She looked down at her hands. “I have told you much of this but I did not want to look to be pressing the North to take any side.”

 

Lord Wyman rested his chins on his hands, his fingers steepled. “He will take the Iron Throne then,” he said. “Perhaps not immediately but it seems only a matter of time. Only the Westerlands and Riverlands stand in his way and most of the Riverlands only pretend fealty because the Lannisters have hostages. The Iron men are reaving but they cannot take the throne.”

 

Arya’s heart was in her throat.  _He did not name the North_. “Aegon does not ask us to kneel,” she said quietly.  _Yet_  was the unspoken thought she did not add.

 

She saw Rickon nod. Others followed his suit. The majority won. “Are we agreed?” she asked.

 

Their response confirmed it though they did have conditions. Arya expected nothing less. “I will send a raven. You can advise me on wording.”

 

She did not know why the Manderlys were party to an alliance. She did not want to ask. The Blackfish took her aside once the men dissolved into their own conversations.

 

“If the North plans to march, you need to do it soon” he prompted. “Your host will dissolve, now is a better time than any other with the change of ruler.”

 

Arya frowned. Something had been nagging at her. “I want to uncle but... Will the men follow a woman?”

 

The Blackfish responded quickly, giving her a pointed look. “Your mother asked me something similar a few years back. I will give you the same answer I gave her. They will follow if it is the  _right_  woman.”

 

Arya met his gaze and nodded. She hoped he was right.

 


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

The preparations to leave were well underway. The raven had been sent setting out the terms for an alliance with Aegon. All the Northern lords had added their names to it as well as the Blackfish. She thought Aegon would be reasonable when he read it. She just hoped Lord Connington wouldn’t resist. It had taken a lot to get an agreement. If their offer was not accepted then Arya knew there would not be another chance. All that was left now was to wait for the reply. She was not sure how she would receive it. They would be travelling for some time.

 

Provisions were being gathered both for the march and for at Winterfell while Arya and the men were gone. In the middle of it a shipment of glass arrived. She could not find where it had come from. Aegon had seen the damage to the glasshouses but he did not have the gold. The only other person she thought might be capable was Wyman Manderly but he would give no answers. She thought it must be him.  _He does like his food_.

 

Lord Wyman had been adamant about staying in Winterfell with Rickon. His son would march with Arya. She did not feel she could refuse him. She did not doubt he was loyal to the Starks even though he was secretive and she had doubts as to who he supported as King. She was certain he would not physically harm Rickon. She was not going to leave him alone with her brother though.

 

The She-Bear had been rather eager to march with Arya. As much as Arya enjoyed the woman, she felt she needed her to stay with Rickon. Rickon had taken to her and Arya knew Aly was loyal. Arya had been tempted to ask Robett Glover to stay but she did not like the way he and Lord Wyman would whisper together. She wanted them separated. It was not that she did not trust Ser Robett, she just knew there had been something with him and Lord Wyman before she came to Winterfell. Besides that, he had been one of Robb’s advisers and the Blackfish had urged her to keep him with her.

 

Arya had to name a Castellan. She had been tempted to name Brienne but she quickly found that was no good. She could not have a Southron named Castellan. Instead she chose the She-Bear. She might have named one of the Umbers but they wanted to fight. They would not stay behind. She knew the men were not happy but they could not really criticise her for naming a woman, after all Arya had been running Winterfell for months now.

 

Rickon was furious with her. He did not want her leaving. He did not want her leaving without him. He wanted her close.

 

“I want to make sure people don’t hurt you,” he had said.

 

Arya had to repress the urge to laugh at her young brother trying to protect her given what she was capable of but she understood. It was hurting her as much to leave him as it was hurting him to be left. Osha would stay with him and Arya was thankful for that. The Skagosi were split. Their leader had insisted he wanted to fight and would march with Arya. Some were coming with him. The rest would stay with Rickon. After their poor welcome Arya had come to realise how good they were. She now wished she had more of them.

 

The Greyjoys had posed a problem. Asha wanted to join the march. Arya had been torn. There had been a discussion and in the end it was decided to let her come with them. It was not a popular decision but everybody agreed it was not a good idea to leave both Asha and Theon behind in a lightly garrisoned Winterfell. The woman was also swearing that she and the few men she had would provide leal service. She did not look to be lying.

 

Brienne was miserable at first. Arya had asked her to stay behind. The Lady of Tarth had looked wounded.

 

“I need you Brienne,” Arya had implored her. “Rickon trusts you and you know more of honour than anybody else here. I need you to teach Rickon. I need you to protect him and I need you to help him with his lessons.”

 

“I was meant to find Sansa,” Brienne had said in a dejected voice.

 

“Mother didn’t know about Rickon when you made that oath,” Arya reminded her. “You know this is important. I trust you.” She gripped Brienne’s large hands in her smaller ones and looked into the tall woman’s blue eyes, her prettiest feature. “He is very important to me. I know you will protect him.”

 

“I failed Renly,” Brienne whispered.

 

“I know you won’t fail Rickon,” Arya said determinedly. “You will protect him from people inside and outside of Winterfell and if somehow the castle was to fall, you take him to the Wall. Jon will help you.”

 

Brienne nodded and Arya could see a glimmer of pride in her eyes.

 

“Keep up his lessons,” she said again. “I know how good you are with a sword. He has to be a great Lord of Winterfell.” She paused. “Tell him of mother. You knew her.”

 

Brienne got a queer look at that but she agreed again.

 

Arya was kept busy after that but as she got close to leaving she heard disturbing whispers. The subject of her marriage had been abandoned to her great relief. The whispers were now about Rickon, Arya was horrified. When she spoke of it they looked guilty but they pressed her.

 

“If he is married then it will stop others from using him to claim Winterfell.”

 

Arya knew what was meant by others. She had not forgotten Sansa being married to the imp. The Northmen wanted Rickon married to a Northern girl. Rickon was not frightened of much but she saw his eyes get big when he realised what was going on. He had been so angry he had alternated between hiding from her and glaring at her sullenly. When she stood firm in refusing to let them do this, he clutched her hand tightly and temporarily forgot his fury.

 

“He is too young. I won’t hear any more,” Arya declared.

 

When they were alone he had looked at her solemnly.

 

“I will run away if they try to make me marry while you are gone.”

 

“They can’t,” Arya reassured him. “I am leaving you with Brienne and Osha and the She-Bear and Skagosi. They will protect you.” She remembered Storm’s End and Aegon helping her avoid being betrothed. “You will get to choose who you marry when you get older.”

 

“I don’t want a girl,” Rickon said stubbornly.

 

Arya felt the corners of her mouth quirk even though she tried to control her face. “You will when you are older. You can find one you like.” Despite her thoughts being taken up by the battle to come, she had not forgotten Robb. She did not want Rickon used for politics. She had grown to understand how things worked with marriages in the great Houses but Rickon was not like the other Lords. Besides, if she was being allowed to choose not to marry she could not deny him.

 

“I don’t want somebody who wears dresses and kneels,” Rickon warned, pouting. “I want somebody who can fight like you.”

 

Arya could not hide a smile this time.

 

“Some of the Dornish ladies are quite fierce,” she said, remembering Aegon’s stories. “Maybe you might like one of them.”

 

Rickon started to get angry. “I don’t want any of them. I want you. Don’t go Arya.”

 

She crouched and tried to calm him down. “I don’t want to leave you. It is something I have to do.”

 

He grabbed hold of her tightly. “Take me with you. I can fight.”

 

They had already spoken of this. Arya did not want to cover it again. “You have to stay,” she said sadly. “Do you remember what I told you? Do you remember what father said?”

 

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” The words were almost spat out.

 

Rickon looked reproachful and disappeared again. Arya sighed. She did not blame him. Saying goodbye was going to be so difficult.  _Everybody leaves and this time it’s me_.

 

 


	36. Chapter 36: Rickon

Chapter 36: Rickon

Rickon hid in the godswood, Shaggydog lying beside him. He knew just where to go so he wouldn’t be found. Osha could find him and Arya would if she used Nymeria but she hadn’t. She was too busy with all the lords in the Great Hall.  _I hate her. I hate all of them._

 

He had tried to tell her he didn’t want her to go. He could barely remember when mother had left. He could barely remember when Robb had left. Father had left too. They didn’t come back. They were dead. Arya was the only one who had come back. Now she was going again.

 

_I hate her._

She had made him care and now it hurt. He wished he had stayed in Skagos. He had told her too. He had told her he hated her and told her he wished he’d never come and her face had done that thing, that thing that the lords bannermen all whispered about. She didn’t react at all. Not a muscle moved but the light caught her eyes and he could see the moisture on her lashes and he knew she was upset. She had left before he could say he didn’t mean it.

 

Two days before they marched he had hidden until he got so hungry he had to go to the kitchens. Shaggydog had almost bitten two of the knights along the way. Rickon tried to control him, he really did but Shaggy was as angry as he was. He couldn’t help it.

 

Rickon was glad most of the men were going. Arya had said Brienne was staying and the bear lady they called the She-Bear. She sometimes growled like a bear and she told Rickon stories. She didn’t treat him like a child. He was glad she was staying but he didn’t tell Arya that.

 

As the time got closer to the march he spent more time in Shaggy’s skin. He didn’t want to be a boy. The direwolf did not have to think about lordly duties. He did not have to sit and nod and listen and pretend to care about all the things the men in the hall talked about.

 

Shaggy slept in his chambers at night. That way he wasn’t bothered. Osha sometimes came to see him. He wasn’t used to sleeping on his own. He had been going to Arya’s chambers but he wouldn’t do that now. He slept alone. He woke in the night and saw somebody in his room. Shaggy wasn’t growling and Rickon tried not to be afraid. They moved forward silently and sat on his bed.

 

“Arya.”

 

She lit a candle. He didn’t know how she was able to do things in the dark. He had asked her once and she had said she had learned to when she was blind. He didn’t know what she meant. She said strange things like that and he never knew what she meant.

“I don’t want you to die,” he blurted.

 

“Valar moghulus,” she said with a shrug. “All men must die.”

 

He wanted to shout when she said that.

 

“But I don’t want  _you_  to,” he whispered.

 

She took his hands. “I have to do this Rickon. If I don’t, they will think us weak. We have to be strong, they have to see we are strong and this must be done. These men are helping the people who killed father. They helped kill Robb and mother and they tried to hurt you and Bran.”

 

“I heard them say  _you_  didn’t have to go,” he argued.

 

She looked angry. “They were wrong. They should not say that. They would not say that if I wasn’t a woman.”

 

“You are a better fighter than them,” he offered.

 

She smiled. It was one of her real smiles. Her eyes twinkled when she really smiled, dark grey eyes like Jon’s. Eyes like father’s, even if Rickon could not remember what father looked like.

 

“I’m better than any of them know. I want you to be safe. I will write often. You need to be good for Aly and Brienne. Keep up with your lessons. You need to be able to fight well and you need to know your letters for when I write you.”

 

He chewed on his lip and she poked him. “What?”

 

He hesitated. “I’m scared Arya.” He hadn’t wanted to say it. Saying it made it real.

 

Her face softened. “So am I.”

 

“Really?”

 

Rickon had never seen Arya look frightened. Arya frightened people, they didn’t frighten her. He had seen her in the hall and in the yard, the men had tried to scare her. Sometimes they made threats, sometimes they made demands and Arya never looked at all worried or frightened. She would use Nymeria to teach them a lesson, just to scare them or she would use her words. She had a way of saying things which seemed to make her much bigger and much more frightening than she looked.

 

“I’m scared about you,” she said. “We have to be brave. There are lots of things we don’t want to do but we do it anyway.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I don’t want to be Lady of Winterfell but I will do it.”

 

He frowned. “I don’t want to be the Stark in Winterfell’.

 

She ruffled his hair. “I know little wolf but you can do it.”

 

That made him angry. “I know I can do it. I just don’t want to.”

 

She sighed. “We all have things we don’t want to do.” She suddenly looked very sad.

 

He remembered what he had said to her. “I don’t hate you Arya.”

 

She smiled but she still looked sad. “Can I stay here tonight?”

 

He nodded and lifted the furs for her to get into bed. He snuggled into her as she put her arms around him.

 

“Promise me you’ll come back.”

 

Her lips brushed his forehead but her voice sounded strained when she answered. “I promise as long as you promise to be good while I’m gone.”

 

Rickon kept his promise as Arya rode out with the lords bannermen and their hosts. Brienne was at his side looking sad. She told him all the banners but he didn’t really listen. He just watched closely for the grey and white Stark banner. It flew proudly with his sister but it also flew in other places too, at the head of the column and at the rear.

When Arya left his sight he slipped into Shaggy instead. The direwolf was able to lope alongside the riders and their horses easily. He saw Nymeria close by Arya and that made him glad. Arya smiled and called down to Shaggy and he realised she knew it was him. He followed until he couldn’t any more. She was going to the Dreadfort.  Even the name was scary.

 

When he came back to himself he saw he had frightened Brienne. He couldn’t feel bad. He was still too angry at being left behind but when she asked him to come to the great hall, he did as she asked. He kept his promise to Arya. He climbed up into the seat Arya usually took and when Brienne and the She-Bear prompted him he said the words she usually spoke.

 

Rickon saw them looking at him with pity. He heard them whispering. He tried to remember what Arya had said.  _I can do this_. It was hard but if Arya could do it he was going to do it. He was going to try to be the Stark in Winterfell but only until Arya came back.

_She has to come back_.

 


	37. Chapter 37: The Dragon's Hand

Chapter 37: The Dragon’s Hand

Jon Connington stared at the parchment again. He did not know what to think.  _I do not know how she did this_. He felt a grudging respect for her but he now had a dilemma. He did not want to tell the boy about the raven.

 

Prince Aegon was no longer a boy in truth but Jon still found himself thinking of him as such. He had helped raise him. He had been the boy’s father, had called him son for years for all to see even if they did not share blood. He had seen him grow from a child into a young man into a man grown. There was much to be proud of with Aegon. He reminded Jon more and more of Rhaegar as time passed but Aegon still had that impulsiveness, that boldness and recklessness of youth. It was stronger in him than he ever remembered with Rhaegar.

 

The last raven from Winterfell had almost brought Aegon undone. He had gone so far as to inquire about the feasibility of obtaining ships to go North. The knowledge that the she-wolf was marching to war had almost driven him mad. He had come to Jon in a way he hadn’t in years, looking like a vulnerable boy seeking advice.

 

“Do you think she has any chance?”

 

“She is a trained assassin Aegon,” he had said, more gruffly than he intended.

 

It hadn’t mattered. Aegon had smiled in a way Jon did not like, clearly reminiscing about something he had shared with the Stark girl.

 

“I remember.” The smile had then turned into a frown. “This is different though. It’s war.”

 

His head had dropped into his hands and Jon had struggled with how to deal with him. He did not want to comfort him and have him think that it was acceptable to be mooning over Arya Stark. He gave in after all, clasping Aegon’s shoulder with his good hand. Treating the boy harshly would not end the infatuation. He had already tried that.

 

The stories travelling over Westeros were not helping. Jon had told the girl he had underestimated her. That had been an understatement. She had taken on some mythical status if the stories were to be believed. The Northern Lords had flocked to her side. They swore fealty to her. He had heard the account from Aegon and had thought it was to be attributed to her name only, that it would be temporary and she would be displaced when her brother arrived. It was now apparent that was not the case. Her power had grown and with it, the stories had become wilder.

 

She had not married. Jon still remembered her, chin up and defiant expression at Storm’s End. She had said then she would not marry, her hair wild and her grey eyes stormy. He had assumed that would change in Winterfell. The Northern bannermen would force a match on her. He had thought that would end Aegon’s fantasies about her. Instead she had stayed true to her word. Jon now had to hear about the warrior maiden of the North, even worse some called her princess. She was said to be able to change into a wolf, that she could smell treason and that any man who tried to touch her would have his throat slit. The problem was there was more than a grain of truth to the stories and both he and Aegon knew it.

 

The prince had been distracted for a while when the ravens arrived from the Tyrells and Lannisters. Jon shook his head just remembering. Mace Tyrell was clearly desperate to have his daughter be queen. She was widowed three times already. Aegon had been almost amused by the letter thought that amusement was mixed with irritation that they would even think he would consider the offer. Aegon’s rejection of the offer had been far more courteous than Jon himself might have been.

 

The prince had flown into a rage at the second raven. Jon still didn’t understand what had possessed Cersei Lannister to propose the match. It was utter madness. Even if the girl had not reportedly been the product of her incestuous relationship with her twin, the link to Robert Baratheon made it untenable and the role of the Lannisters in the deaths of Aegon’s family made it downright insulting.

 

The rejection letter to that proposal had been swift and brutal. Jon did not try to stop Aegon as he swore that he would see the end of the Lannister line. Unfortunately after the raven had flown off the prince let slip that he had also included accusations as to the execution of Eddard Stark and the red wedding in the letter. Jon did not let his irritation show. It was a foolish move. If he had been able to have input he would have advised not revealing his weakness where the Starks were concerned.

 

This brought Jon back to the parchment in front of him. He sighed heavily. There was no way around it. He would need to show it at the war council. The commanders of the Golden Company and the Lords looked at him curiously when he produced it. He cleared his throat and began to read. He did not get far before they were on their feet.

 

“You cannot give them independence.”

 

Jon frowned. “The terms do not state independence.”

 

“They are not going to swear fealty. I do not see the difference.”

 

Jon knew they were right. It was splitting hairs. Before he could decide what to say next Aegon interjected.

 

“Finish reading my Lord.”

 

The prince’s voice prompted a lull in the arguments. Jon kept on reading. This time he got to the end. He began to read out the signatories to the proposed agreement. When he got to the bottom of the list he paused. He could not believe he had missed it in his numerous readings.

 

“What?” Harry Strickland prompted.

 

“Brynden Tully has signed this.”

 

Aegon looked puzzled. “Lady Arya and the Tullys are kin. Is it a surprise?”

 

It was. The boy clearly was not following. “Do you know what this means?”

 

He looked around the table. He could see it registering on some of the faces. He brandished the parchment.

 

“This is not just an alliance with the North.”

 

Aegon frowned. “I don’t understand.”

 

Jon wanted to shake sense into him. The boy was usually so intelligent. He was starting to wonder if he had lost some of his wits when he took that arrow.

 

“The Tullys are Riverland lords,” he prompted “but not just any Riverland lords.”

 

He saw the realisation dawn on the prince’s face. “They are the liege lords of the Riverlands.” A wide grin spread across his face and the light danced in his violet eyes for the first time since he had returned from the North. “She has negotiated terms which might give both.”

 

“Why?” Harry Strickland asked suspiciously. “Why are they offering this?”

 

Aegon looked guilty. “I wrote them. I wrote Lord Rickon after the rumours were spread that I accepted the Lannister proposal. They must have all read it.” He flushed. “I wanted them to know I would never do that. I wanted them to know what I thought of the Lannisters.”

 

Jon wanted to curse him for his recklessness. “You took a risk,” he said tersely.

 

Jon still didn’t know how rumours had spread that Aegon had accepted the offer to wed Myrcella Baratheon. It had certainly not come from their side. He assumed the Lannisters had somehow been confident of an acceptance or that they thought they might pressure an agreement. Either way it was folly. The other possible explanation was that enemies of the Lannisters in King’s Landing had spread the rumour hoping to provoke a backlash. If so, they had got their wish.

 

Jon still wasn’t happy at Aegon’s plans for the Riverlands. He still remembered the Battle of the Bells and the Stark and Tully host marching to intervene. He did not want to forgive those who had participated in Robert’s Rebellion but the prince was adamant that if they were willing to become allies they should not be held accountable. It was one of the strongest reminders of Rhaegar Jon had seen yet. He could almost hear Rhaegar speaking the same words.

 

They began to discuss the other terms. All prisoners and hostages held by the Freys and Lannisters were to be returned to the North once liberated. That met no argument. The other terms were the issue. There would be no fealty. Northern lands would be administered and allocated by their liege lord. The North would not have Aegon give their lands to southron allies. The discussion became heated. Aegon got to his feet.

 

“I will agree to the terms.”

 

The announcement was met by protests. Jon added his own voice to it but Aegon was determined.

 

“I am not waiting for my Aunt to arrive. This alliance could unite most of the realm. Do you think we will get a better offer if we try to negotiate?”

 

Jon had to concede his point.

 

“They will see it as a kick in the teeth.”

 

Aegon nodded.

 

“They will not make this offer to anybody else.”

 

The boy was right. Jon knew he was right. If not for his  _friendship_  with the Lady Arya, the offer would likely not have been made. Jon gave his reluctant agreement. Harry Strickland added his but that wasn’t a great surprise. Harry didn’t like taking risks. The others took longer to come around. There was a great deal of toing and froing but in the end they had an agreement. Jon walked with Aegon after the meeting ended. The prince had a faraway look in his eyes.

 

“She might have just given me the throne.”

 

Jon could not answer.  _This is why I did not want him to know_. Every time the Stark girl did something the sense of doom seemed to grow. She was not Lyanna, that was certain. He was afraid it was much worse than that. Lyanna had been wild too but she lacked the discipline her niece had. This girl had brought Aegon to his knees, much as Lyanna seemed to have done with Rhaegar only instead of the two of them fracturing the realm they were somehow mending it.

 

Jon had become a hard man. Hate and exile had made him that way but seeing what the two of them were managing to do might have been enough to soften him a little in different circumstances. But it was not different circumstances. It was only a matter of time before there would be dragons.

 

He shut himself in his chambers and inspected his hand. He was still taking the concoction the girl had given him. He wasn’t sure if it had slowed the spread but it hadn’t hurt. He remembered her face when she had looked over his greyscale. She was the only person who knew and she had kept his secret. There had been no disgust, no judgement.

 

He shook his head. He had to harden himself against her. If she was allowed to be any closer it could end them all when Daenerys eventually arrived. It was going to be challenging enough if Aegon did manage to take the throne before that time. He did not know how Daenerys would react. Aegon had a stronger claim but Daenarys had been calling herself Queen. It might go well or it might go badly. It might even be fire and blood.

 


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Arya had been torn about whether to march to Moat Cailin first or the Dreadfort. Jon had said to target the Dreadfort first otherwise while the men were gone from Winterfell those at the Dreadfort might march on Winterfell. That made sense. It was what Uncle Brynden said too.

 

The march towards the Dreadfort had been tedious. Arya had forgotten how slow progress was when riding with thousands of men, especially when only half were on horses. There had been snows too which hindered their progress.

 

The nightly camps were high spirited at first. The men were eager for battle. As the days passed and the march dragged on tempers began to fray, especially with a lack of wine and rationed food. The Blackfish and Robett Glover were seldom far from Arya’s side. Each advised her that the men needed to be kept focused on what they were trying to achieve.

 

It became a nightly ritual to list the misdeeds of the Boltons. Mixed with that were awful attempts at singing. Arya joined in a few times, singing the filthy songs Gyloro Dothare had taught her in Braavos. Uncle Brynden had looked appalled for just a moment but then he had laughed and the rest of the men erupted into laughter too and asked that she teach them the songs.

 

Arya had kept her promise to Rickon. Every few days she wrote. There was little to say but still she wrote. The letters were short but that did not matter. He just needed to see that she was still alive and that he was not forgotten. She hoped he hadn’t let Shaggydog loose on those still left at Winterfell.

 

Arya felt a mix of nerves, relief and fear when the Dreadfort could be seen in the distance. There was talk that it would be lightly garrisoned after the Boltons had marched for Winterfell but Arya did not believe anything until she had seen it. Besides, they had told her stories of the castle. It was a fortress with high walls made of thick stone and massive towers. The men spoke of the castle having torture chambers and a room where the Boltons hang the flayed skins of their enemies. Arya had not forgotten that Ramsay flayed Theon. She expected that the other stories might be true too.

 

They camped in view of the Dreadfort. The bannermen argued about how best to proceed.

 

“It is a fortress, we cannot storm the castle,” the Blackfish mused.

 

“A siege won’t work either,” Robett Glover responded. “We will starve before they do.”

 

The Whoresbane wanted to march on the castle anyway. Others wanted to set up trebuchets. It wasn’t until the Blackfish aired a thought aloud that Arya got an idea.

 

“I escaped Riverrun by stealth,” he said. “If we knew the Dreadfort better stealth might have worked for us.”

 

That night while the men were busy arguing and singing, Arya crept away. She stole towards the Dreadfort quiet as a shadow, using trees to hide her advance. They weren’t looking out for a woman on her own. She wore a different face, a girl with red hair and a pug nose in case she was caught. She could see men were in the towers keeping watch but they did not see her. When she returned to the tents there was an uproar. Her absence had been noticed. Duck shook his head at her with a knowing look. The others reacted more strongly.

 

“Are you mad girl?” Big Bucket Wull demanded.

 

“I’m not,” Arya said defensively. “I just wanted to take a look.”

 

“You could have been killed child,” the Blackfish said, his lined face looking haggard.

 

“You said stealth might work,” Arya said slowly. “I found out where the postern gates are.”

 

They all fell silent and gaped at her. The Blackfish’s concern gave way to a reluctant smile though he still shook his head. Ser Robett was incredulous.

 

“They would not be so foolish as to leave them unguarded.”

 

“They’re not,” Arya admitted “but nobody saw or heard me.”

 

That set them off on another round of talk about strategy even though it was very late now. Arya marked the location of the gates for them but after listening to them she had a different plan in mind.

 

They lingered during the day having determined that any assault on the fortress during daylight would be folly. As the sky darkened Arya gathered the things she needed. She took Duck aside and told him what she was going to do.

 

“You can’t,” he said, horrified.

 

She clenched her jaw. “I can. You know I can.” She grabbed his arm. “You can’t tell them. They must not know until I am in the castle. They you have to make sure they come.”

 

She could see he was going to argue so she escaped before he could protest further. She had secured Nymeria, the direwolf was not to be freed until the right time. It was easy to find the gates again. It was easier than it should have been to access them and kill the guards. She listened as she stalked through the castle. It did not take long before she heard what she was looking for, a whine of a dog. She had found Ramsay’s bitches.

 

Arya had wondered if it might be harder but everybody seemed to be focused on the outside of the castle not the inside. They did not expect an intruder. She made her way into the kennels, tossing offerings to the dogs and retreating fast. She left the door open and waited. It did not take long.

 

She watched for a moment impassively as the mayhem began then she stole her way through the grounds, ignoring the screams. The winch was almost unguarded, the men posted there having run to find out if they were under attack from within. It took little to have the portcullis raised. She was relieved to see that Duck had followed her instructions. She could see the Northmen coming.

 

She stayed in the shadows and heard the screams begin to give way to shouts of confusion. When her men entered the fortress Arya dropped her disguise as she advanced through the passages. Nymeria found her quickly, killing any who tried to approach her. There were more men in the castle than they had been led to believe but it made no matter. They had not expected the attack. They were not ready.

 

She was curious when she opened the doors to what was clearly the master quarters of the castle. There had been no word of who was now in command of the Dreadfort. The man inside the chambers was standing looking out the window. When he realised Arya was there he turned to look and Arya froze. His eyes were as pale as she remembered and his voice was still whisper soft.

 

“The fools, I told them it must be a distraction but they did not listen.”

 

He showed no fear, only mild curiosity.

 

“They told me you were dead,” Arya whispered.

 

“I had heard the same of you,” was his response. “Whose idea was the diversion? I had no warning.”

 

Arya tried to make sense of what he was saying but she began to feel rage building inside her. “You killed Robb,” she spat instead.

 

“I did,” he said calmly.

 

Arya fingered her dagger but in the end she did not use it. Nymeria leapt instead without warning and not at Arya’s command. Arya did not call the wolf back.

 

Ramsay had pleaded for his life. Roose did not. Arya was still standing over his body when her men found her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deliberately kept the action details minimal. Writing battle scenes is not my forte.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

 

The Blackfish had taken her by the shoulders and shaken her when he found her before pulling her into a fierce embrace.

 

“Never do something like that again without telling us first.”

 

Arya stood firm. “You would have tried to stop me” she argued. “You would not have believed I could do it. I had to prove myself.”

 

She had done that. As angry as the men were that she had not told them her plans, they were equally as impressed and she heard their whispers. They were comparing her to Robb. Arya knew they had thought a lot of his battle plans and she could not help feeling a little proud. She was not proud though of the trouble she had made for Duck.

 

“They are angrier with me than they are with you,” he whispered.

 

She squeezed his hand when nobody was looking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”

 

She said as much to the bannermen next time she saw them. They did not look placated.

 

“How many men did we lose,” she asked, biting her lip.

 

She had been warned beforehand that no matter the plan, not everybody would survive. Ser Brynden shook his head and smiled reluctantly.

 

“Very few.”

 

 _Very few_ did not console Arya much. _They died at my command_. She wondered if it was as difficult for her father and Robb, knowing that men had died for them.

 

The men had searched through the Dreadfort. At one point some of them returned looking pale and would not speak of what they had found. “Horrors” she heard them muttering. When she looked through the castle herself to check she found that any horrors they had found they must have removed or destroyed.

 

She wrote to both Rickon and Jon to tell them they had taken the Dreadfort and that Roose Bolton had been found and killed in the battle. She also sent a raven to Lord Connington. She assumed he had received the letter proposing an alliance but then she guessed any reply would be in Winterfell. She hoped Connington would tell Aegon of her success and then felt angry with herself for the thought.

 

Bolton’s wife, the one called Fat Walda had also been in the Dreadfort. She was a Frey and the men had difficulty deciding what to do with her. Arya would not have had difficulty executing her for being part of the Red Wedding, her being a woman was not a problem. The problem was that she was with child. It was agreed she could not remain at the Dreadfort. She was to travel with them as a hostage.

 

 _She does not look like somebody who took part in murder,_ The Lady Walda just looked frightened.

 

They did not linger long in the castle. It took a few days to go through it and agree on a garrison to leave behind. Arya worked out instructions with her advisors and spoke with the men who would stay before they left to begin the march back to Winterfell. They took prisoners with them, petty lords and sons of lords to ransom. Fat Walda travelled with the baggage train. Everybody else in the castle who had been involved with the Red Wedding was executed just as they had been in Winterfell.

 

On the first night after they began the march Arya spoke to the Blackfish in her tent about something which was troubling her.

 

“Somebody spread the story that Roose Bolton died in the battle for Winterfell.”

 

His expression darkened “Yes.”

 

She paused. “Before he died he asked whose idea the diversion was. He said he had no warning.”

 

Duck was sitting in a chair nearby and Arya was aware of him cursing. Ser Brynden wrinkled his forehead and went very quiet. He left her and came back with Robett Glover and the two Umbers.

 

“Tell them what you told me.”

 

Arya repeated it and the reaction was even stronger. The Whoresbane bellowed and Mors spat. Robett Glover went very pale.

 

“We have a traitor.”

 

Arya was not shocked. “I knew before we left Winterfell that not all can be trusted. There could be more than one.” She began to play with the end of her braid. “I could see people were hiding things but sometimes it is hard to tell who is just secretive and who means harm.” She gave Robett Glover a pointed look. “I know you and Lord Wyman have a secret ser.”

 

He gaped at her with a look of abject horror on his face. “I’m not a traitor my lady. I swear it.”

 

Arya waved her hand dismissively. “I know. I wouldn’t tell you so much if I thought you were. I trust you as much as the others here. Lord Wyman is very clever but he seems loyal too, otherwise I would not have let it go.”

 

She saw the knight breathe a sigh of relief. They had a brief discussion over what to do about the treachery. It was not going to be possible to question thousands of men. They brought in Fat Walda. She did not know anything. They then brought in a procession of petty lords and knights and pressed them on it over the march but made no progress. Whoever it was remained hidden.

 

Every so often Arya was aware of Roose Bolton’s head being paraded past the column. It had been dipped in tar and mounted on a pike. Arya cursed herself for losing control when she was in that room with him, for not calling Nymeria back. If she had questioned him she might know the traitor. Duck and the bannermen had tried to reassure her that Roose would not have told her anything but it did not stop her doubts.

 

There had been some objections raised over the gruesomeness of the head but those protests had not been very loud. Whatever had been found in the Dreadfort had been enough to shock the men who conducted the search. Between that and what had been done to Robb most saw taking Bolton’s head as justice. Some wanted it mounted on a spike at Winterfell. More talked of sending it to King’s Landing as a gift for the Lannisters. Arya had not cared though that second option was tempting.

 

The progress was even slower on the way back to Winterfell than it had been on the march to the Dreadfort. They still had some snow and they now had more men on foot with the prisoners. No amount of songs and cheering of success could stop Arya being impatient. When they got within a day’s march, she ignored advice and rode ahead with the scouts, Nymeria running with her as she pushed her horse hard.

 

She saw the castle through Nymeria’s eyes first. It was safe, just as she left it. Arya couldn’t stand to wait any longer. Her horse was lathered and blowing hard as she arrived at the castle well before the rest of the column. The sentry was so startled he didn’t even blow the horn, he simply raised the portcullis and lowered the drawbridge to allow her and Nymeria entry.

 

The clatter of her horse’s hooves brought people running. She could see the happiness on their faces as she dismounted and it touched her. One of the stableboys ran forward to take her horse, babbling over and over about how glad he was to see m’lady. She gave him a smile and asked where Rickon was. She was pointed in the direction of the training yard.

 

When she arrived she found Brienne drilling him with wooden swords. She was pushing him hard. It didn’t surprise Arya, she had known the Lady of Tarth would take her teaching duties very seriously. She was serious about most everything. What did surprise Arya was the other children. There were boys close to Rickon’s age and she suddenly realised a girl was in the midst of them.

 

Brienne spotted her and a grin spread across her homely face.

 

“Lady Arya!” she exclaimed, looking not to feel the blow of Rickon’s wooden sword as he kept slashing at her. He dropped the sword as she spoke and spun around, his Tully blue eyes becoming huge.

 

The other children gaped at her with the exception of the girl who half stumbled into a curtsey and babbled an almost incoherent “my lady.” Arya studied her. She looked to be a little older than Rickon. She was wearing dirt and snow stained breeches and had a smudge of dirt on her cheek.

 

“What is your name?” Arya asked curiously.

 

She lifted her head proudly. “I am Lyanna Mormont my lady.”

 

Before she could dwell on it too much Rickon ran at her, almost knocking her off her feet with the force of his hug.

 

“You came back.”

 

Arya returned the embrace. “I said I would. Have you been good?”

 

He looked a little guilty and Arya turned to Brienne.

 

“He was better after we read your letters but he really does not like being a lord.”

 

 _I expected this_.

 

Rickon chewed his lip. “The She-Bear said she would turn into a bear and hunt me down if I didn’t stop trying her.”

 

“She can’t really do that you know,” a voice piped up. “She was just trying to scare you and anyway, you’re her liege lord.”

 

It was the girl, Lyanna. She saw Arya look at her and dropped her eyes. Rickon swung an irritated look at her. “I don’t want to be a liege lord.” The girl looked his way and Arya could tell she was trying very hard to be quiet. Arya had to hide a smile.

 

“Where is Aly?” she asked.

 

Brienne looked uncomfortable and offered to take Arya to her. Rickon followed and Arya updated Brienne on everything she had not included in her letters. Brienne in turn told her of tidings at Winterfell. The glass gardens were being repaired. It would not be long before food could be grown in them. The children had arrived not long after Arya had left. Shaggydog had only bitten one of them and thankfully it had only been minor. Rickon had kept at his lessons. He wanted to read his own letters and he was getting better but he preferred the arms lessons.

 

The She-Bear was in her solar in the quarters Arya had given her. She was not alone. A grey-haired woman was with her dressed in patched ringmail. Arya could see a close resemblance. Aly smiled a gap toothed grin and took a knee when Arya entered.

 

“My lady you are back early. It is good to see you.”

 

Arya smiled in return, asked her quickly to rise and tried to hide her curiosity over the visitor.

 

“It is good to see you too. I hear you have kept things running despite my brother trying you.” Rickon was close by her side and Arya put her arm around him to soften her words.

 

The She-Bear grinned again. “I’ve seen worse than him in my time.” She gestured to the older woman. “This is my mother, Maege Mormont, the Lady of Bear Island.”

 

Arya greeted the older woman as politely as she could. The Lady of Bear Island greeted her respectfully enough though she looked to be in an ill temper.

 

“Is something the matter my lady?” she asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

 

“You could say that,” Maege responded. “Your brother is being difficult.”

 

Arya frowned and looked down at Rickon. He looked up at her with a confused expression.

 

“Not that one,” Maege said impatiently. “That one is a mere trifle. I’m talking about the other one, the one at the Wall.”

 

“Jon?” Arya asked, surprised.

 

Maege pursed her mouth. “Yes Jon. I went to see him. It was a waste of time. You Starks and your honour will be the death of us.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maege was tricky to write, there isn't a lot on her that I could find in the books. I chose to go mostly with the description Jon was given by the Old Bear.


	40. Chapter 40: Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one covers a lot of stuff already covered in previous chapters but from Jon’s POV. It might not make the most exciting reading but I felt it was necessary.

Chapter 40: Jon

 **  
** Jon’s thoughts wandered to Arya often. Many of the new recruits showed promise though Jon was not certain they would stick to the oaths. Whatever had prompted them to join the Night’s Watch it was not an urge to serve the realm. Many of them would make passable rangers though and the Watch really did need more rangers.

 

Melisandre was giving him space. He had made it clear that he had no interest in speaking with her. She now lingered by her fires. Jon could not forget the look on Arya’s face when he had spoken of the vision. He remembered her temper when she was a child. He felt fortunate that she had not held a grudge against him.

 

He took a gulp of his mulled wine and threw some corn in the direction of Mormont’s raven. It shrieked then thankfully went silent for a while.

 

He had harboured doubts when she had pushed him to write to the prince to request the dragonglass for the Watch. He had not wanted to write and when he made himself sit down and put quill to parchment he knew his words sounded distant and harsh. It was not the way to ask for something from a would be king but Jon kept picturing Arya being unable to look at him.

 

_It was not dishonour._

 

He knew he had weakened with Ygritte but this was different. The fingers on his sword hand opened and closed thinking about it. He could not bear the thought of a man preying on Arya. She might look strong but she was still a girl. She was still vulnerable even if she would not admit it. Tormund had spoken of her on the way back to the Wall. He had laughed about Jon not needing to worry about his sister being stolen. He was wrong.  _She has already been stolen._

 

Jon was surprised at how quickly he received a response bearing the Targaryen seal. When he opened it, the contents were even more surprising. The request was not questioned at all. The letter was warm, friendly even. Prince Aegon professed to want to be a friend to the Watch. He did not even mention Stannis being at the Wall, only that the dragonglass would be sent as soon as it was mined and ships procured to send it. Jon thought back to the paper shield he had sent to the Lannisters. He had not thought to send anything to the Targaryen. It appeared it wasn’t needed. He pictured Arya’s scowl when he had said no kings except Stannis had sent aid. She had said Aegon would not say no. She had been right.

 

He could not stop being reminded of his little sister. The stories of her were still growing and after having seen her he knew at least some were true. He had known instantly she was a warg like him. Rickon was too. He also had not forgotten her display in the training yard. Duck was not the most formidable warrior but he was still a knight of some skill. He had been hopelessly outmatched by Arya.

 

 _I have been practising my needlework_.

 

He had let it drop when she said she had a Braavosi instructor but there had to be more to it. His sister had secrets. It looked as though people wanted to kill her for it. Every time he saw the squire who had tried to poison her he had to remind himself that past transgressions were to be forgotten at the Wall. If the boy took the black and that did look likely, he would be one of Jon’s brothers.

 

He hoped that Arya was not marching to her death. He wished she was not joining the men who were marching on the Dreadfort. The castle was a fortress. It would not be taken easily. The North might incur heavy losses. Jon knew they were already well bloodied. There were experienced commanders amongst the bannermen. He could only hope they would find the safest course and keep his sister from harm. He knew Arya. She was stubborn and years had not changed that. He knew there was no point telling her to stay behind.

 

Waiting to hear the outcome weighed on him. As the snow fell he hoped they were not enduring too much difficulty. At the same time he was glad that it was just snow fall and not the true cold winds rising. He had sent rangers out and not all had returned. It was not the Weeper this time. The Others were out there. The Wall would not put them off forever.

 

Days passed and a raven came bearing the direwolf of Stark. Jon felt immense satisfaction to read that the Stark host had taken the Dreadfort. Arya confided that she had acted on her own for part of the plan and the men were wroth. He wondered what had possessed her. He also wondered how on earth she had pulled it off.

 

The last part of her letter had chilled him. He had thought Roose Bolton was dead. Not only had Arya found him alive, before he had died he had admitted to killing Robb. Jon dearly wished it had been him who had killed Bolton. It was on his mind a lot over the next days until it was announced that he had a visitor. Satin looked rather intimidated.

 

“Show them in.”

 

Jon could understand when he saw her. The Lady of Bear Island was an imposing figure. He began to greet her, wondering why she was at the Wall when she took a knee.

 

“Your Grace.”

 

He felt his mouth go dry and quickly urged her to rise.  _I do not like the sound of this_.

 

“It is not necessary to kneel for the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

 

She fixed her gaze on him, her expression was stubborn and he was reminded of how the Old Bear had described her.

 

“It is necessary to kneel for my King.”

 

She rose and passed him a piece of parchment. Jon read, his chest tightening when he saw it was in Robb’s hand. He read it twice before putting it down.

 

“This can’t be right,” he said hoarsely.

 

“It is,” Maege replied. “He named you his heir. You are rightful heir to Winterfell and King of Winter.”

 

He thought of Winterfell, of Arya and Rickon. He remembered Stannis making him a similar offer, albeit one without the title of King and subject to conditions. He had wanted it then and turned it down. He wanted it still. Robb had wanted him to have it.

 

“What about my sister? What about Rickon? I can’t disinherit them,” he argued “and I swore an oath to the Night’s Watch.”

 

Maege’s mouth tightened. “Our King named  _you_  his heir.”

 

Jon hesitated. “He thought Bran and Rickon dead, Arya most likely too.”

 

He could see the She-Bear was displeased.

 

“Can I have some time to think?”

 

She bowed her head and withdrew. Satin returned and Jon told him to find accommodations for the Lady of Bear Island.

 

Jon could not stop thinking. He remembered Melisandre’s talk of his blood and the raven’s incessant squawking at him about being King. He was uncomfortably reminded of hearing the word on the wind at Winterfell. He did not want the crown but he could not deny he wanted Winterfell. He wanted to be Jon Stark. If Rickon and Arya were not there he would be even more torn.

 

As his mind continued to torment him and he could not sleep his oath came back to him.  _I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory._  He was uncomfortably reminded of Maester Aemon.

 

_Choosing... it has always hurt. It always will._

This was his fourth time choosing. It seemed the gods did want to test him. The first he failed. His friends had honour enough to bring him back the first time. The second hurt, turning down the offer from Stannis but he knew it had been right. The third time had been folly and he had failed in that too. He had been willing to break his oath for his sister and it would all have been for nothing. This choice was different. This came down to honour and duty towards his family, not just the Watch. He was the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He had a duty to his brothers and the realm but there was more than that.

 

If he broke his oath (and he felt that he would be, no matter if there were swords to replace him), what would it achieve? He would have Winterfell. He could be part of the battles taking place, he could get vengeance on those who had harmed his family and he could wear his brother’s crown but what would it gain? He remembered Ygritte’s words.  _You know nothing Jon Snow_. He had learned. He would not displace his brothers and sisters. He would not abandon his post. He would be here when the Others came. The red woman had visited him two days earlier despite his protests and he had dismissed her but he still remembered what she had told him.

 

“Remember the true enemy Lord Snow.”

 

_She had known. She saw this coming._

 

Maege Mormont was back the next morning and he had his answer ready.

 

“I’m sorry my lady, I cannot be your King. I have made an oath and I will uphold it.”

 

She scowled at him. He hastened to add his final words as she bowed her head and turned to leave.

 

“I am sorry about your brother. He was a good man.”

 

Maege turned back to face him.

 

“We have lost too many good men,” she said bitterly. “Your brother was one of them.”

 

He could see she was unhappy with his refusal. The choice had not been easy, no matter what she thought of it. That did not change matters. Jon knew deep down he had made the right choice.

 

 


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

 

Arya listened to the Lady of Bear Island’s account of Robb’s Will. She used everything she had learned to hide her expression. She saw Maege give her a queer look. Aly grinned, no doubt getting some amusement out of her mother’s reaction to Arya. Arya became aware of Brienne tensing by her side.  _She is offended on my behalf_. Arya could tell at a glance.

 

Arya was not offended. The She-Bear’s tone was abrupt but she gave enough detail in her tale for Arya to understand. Robb had no choice. Rickon and Bran were thought to be dead. Arya was in hiding, also thought dead and Sansa had been married to Tyrion Lannister. She felt a pang at what her brother must have felt.  _Poor Robb_.

 

She did not know what to think about Jon being heir to Winterfell. It was her home but she knew Jon would let her stay. She did not want to be Lady of Winterfell. Bran was missing and Rickon... Rickon didn’t want to be Lord of Winterfell.  _Jon could be with us, he is strong like father_.  _He is so like father._ Arya had seen it. She felt a small hope.  _Jon might be a good King of the North_. Then she remembered the dragons and a shiver went down her spine.

 

Maege became very blunt when she arrived at the point of describing how Jon took the news.

 

“He refused.”

 

Arya was shocked. “Why?”

 

Maege scowled. “He would not disinherit you and Rickon. He said he swore his oath to the Night’s Watch. He would not break it.”

 

_He is too much like father._

 

Arya wanted to scream. She took a moment to gather her thoughts and to take a deep breath. Maege was muttering darkly about disrespecting the orders of their King but Arya was remembering what Jon had told her. Having Jon come to Winterfell might make things easier for her and for Rickon but it would not be right. Jon  _was_  needed at the Wall. Arya had to accept it no matter how frustrated she was. Rickon was going to be Lord of Winterfell, it was his right and Arya would be the Lady until he was ready. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed.

 

Maege set a steely gaze on Arya. “Is there a way he could be convinced?”

 

“I can write him,” Arya said hesitantly “but I know him. I don’t think anything I say will change his mind.”

 

The horn blew not long afterwards to announce the return of the men. Arya walked with the She-Bears, mother and daughter out to the gate to meet them. The host moved slowly. Arya met many of the first to return then organised for others to make the men as comfortable as possible as they arrived.

 

She made her way to the great hall where a modest feast of sorts would be held. She found the Lord of White Harbour already there. She noted that winter was already having an effect on him. He was still colossal in size but slightly less so. He smiled in her direction but she did not return it. She marched over to him.

 

“Did you know, my lord?”

 

She was relieved when he did not try to pretend he didn’t know what she meant. He simply nodded. Arya dropped down next to him on the bench seat, torn between feeling furious and just feeling sad.

 

“You should have told me.”

 

All the secretive looks now made sense. Arya had not fully trusted them. Her experience in Kings Landing and the years following it had taught her not to trust easily but it still hurt.

 

“I’m sure you all thought me very stupid.”

 

Lord Wyman sighed. “Not at all my lady. I think you are remarkable. You must understand that those of us who knew were not all agreed once you arrived here. We also could not spread the news in case it reached the wrong ears. There are those who would have taken certain actions if they knew he had been named heir. You know there was an attempt on his life just as there was on yours.”

 

“The people who attacked Jon did not know of this,” Arya said stiffly.

 

“That is true my lady,” Lord Wyman conceded. “If they had they might have made a better job of it.”

 

His words sounded convincing but Arya was still unhappy.

 

“The Will had to be safe and it had to be read,” Lord Wyman said tiredly. “In the end it has changed nothing.”

 

Arya disagreed. It did change something for her. She did not feel hurt over the Will itself but she now felt even more filled with doubts as to how much support she had amongst her own bannermen. Wyman Manderley must have read her mind.

 

“Do not doubt the loyalty of White Harbour my lady.”

 

She studied his expression and this time there was no sense that he was trying to be clever, that he was holding something back. She nodded.

 

“It was you who had the glass brought wasn’t it my lord?”

 

This time he didn’t evade the question. Arya sat with him, sharing the news of what had happened at the Dreadfort. His eyes twinkled over Bolton having lost his head but the twinkling faded when he found out that Roose Bolton’s wife carried his heir. Arya distinctly heard him mutter the word  _tansy_ under his breath. She decided to pretend she had not heard it.

 

The men scattered throughout the castle as they arrived. Arya took her place in the high seat on the dais at dinner with those who had arrived. She was starting to feel tired but she forced a weak smile and greeted Duck when he rode in late and when she saw the Blackfish she sought him out.

 

“Uncle did you know about Robb’s Will?”

 

He shook his head and frowned. She felt a flood of relief that he had not been keeping it from her.

 

“Robb made it when he thought Sansa was the only Stark left and she had married the imp,” she explained. “He named Jon as his heir.”

 

Brynden Blackfish was far angrier than Arya had expected he would be.

 

“What was he thinking?” he exclaimed. “To make the bastard his heir.” He shook his head. “Your mother never trusted that boy.”

 

Arya expected her expression had become stony.

 

“You do not know Jon. Mother was not fair to him.”

 

The Blackfish wanted to argue, she could see that but she cut him off.

 

“Jon has refused to leave the Watch. He has refused to disinherit Rickon and me.”

 

Surprise flooded her uncle’s craggy features. Arya’s softened her tone to end the conversation.

 

“Jon is very like father. If you gave him a chance you would see.”

 

It had become late. Arya went to her chambers and found Rickon waiting for her. She did not protest over him wanting to stay. He was restless and she was disturbed often in the night. It seemed that Rickon kept wanting to make sure she was still there.

 

Arya was later than usual rising the next day. The march had worn her out more than she had realised. After she broke her fast, she met with the young She-Bear to find out what ravens she had missed. There was one from Jon addressed to her, repeating what Maege had said and stating rather firmly that his place was at the Wall. She knew then that there was no point writing to him about the Will. She still wrote him but she did not question his decision.

 

There were also two ravens bearing the Targaryen seal. One was in Lord Connington’s hand. It was an acceptance of the alliance signed by both him and Aegon. Arya felt relief rush through her. She had been worried that Connington would want to refuse or that they would argue terms. Arya still could not believe the bannermen had agreed to an alliance. She knew they would have taken it badly if the offer had been questioned or turned down.

 

She knew she needed to call a meeting to announce the agreement but she held off to read the other raven. It was addressed to her and in Aegon’s hand. Aly was still sitting rather close to her, Duck had joined them and Rickon was lingering too. Arya would have liked to have read it alone but she knew she would just draw attention. She broke the seal and tried to school her face.

 

_Lady Arya,_

_I was most grateful to receive your raven bearing news of your success in taking the Dreadfort. I have been most concerned about the safety of you and your men, our allies. I have now left Dragonstone and am intent on marching into the Riverlands. I do not intend to hold those who aided in the rebellion accountable if they wish to be allies against the Lannisters. If you must needs write to me we have made a base at Maidenpool. Lord Connington has suggested we march on Harrenhal. I will write if there is news. Stay safe._

_Aegon Targaryen_

 

She tried not to feel bruised over his formal language.  _He is only doing as I did_. When she looked up she could see she was being watched intently.

 

“Prince Aegon has responded to us taking the Dreadfort. He is pleased. He is marching into the Riverlands. They are thinking of taking Harrenhal.”

 

She had tried to keep her voice level but it almost sounded wooden to her ears. Duck was smiling as he always did whenever Aegon wrote. Rickon did not really react but Arya felt as though Aly was studying her. She put aside the parchment and stood. There were no other letters of importance.

 

She announced the agreement to the alliance in the Great Hall with all the lords bannermen present. They inspected the wording of the agreement but none of them found an issue with it. The discussion soon turned to who the traitor was at the Dreadfort. Another attempt was made to find the culprit but it was hopeless. Arya was certain now that it was not one of the Lords themselves. Some of them may have hidden knowledge of Robb’s Will from her but they were not committing treason. They had tried to question the lesser lords and knights but that was just as unsuccessful.

 

Robett Glover sought her out when she made to leave the hall.

 

“Please forgive me my lady,” he said “it was not my intention to hide anything from you.”

 

Arya could see he was concerned. She had thought on Lord Wyman’s words. She nodded.

 

“I understand.”

 

Ser Robett looked relieved. She knew she would need to move past it. He was one of her best advisers. She spoke with him briefly to show she was not holding a grudge before taking her leave.

 

Arya lingered at Winterfell a week. She did not have a problem with the children having been brought to Winterfell. It was good to have Rickon mix with those his own age but it did test his restraint. She saw that Brienne kept a firm hand on him. Arya did not have to intervene often. Rickon was still a very angry boy but then Arya had not expected that to fade.

 

Roose Bolton’s widow was kept under guard. Fat Walda was sullen and difficult. Arya could see the hate and fear in the woman’s eyes. Arya did not care. The hatred this woman felt towards her and her men was nothing compared to the hate Arya and the Northmen felt towards the Freys. Arya still half expected that Fat Walda might come to harm.

 

“You best hope that those in Winterfell respect guest right better than your family did,” she told her.

 

Walda looked more frightened at that and Arya did feel a pang of guilt then. _I will tell them not to hurt her_. She was not going to have it be said that the Starks were no better than the Freys. Her father would not have harmed a hostage, not without reason.

 

During the meeting to decide strategy for Moat Cailin Arya shared the news with the Blackfish about Aegon’s plans in the Riverlands. He went very quiet and she could see he was deep in thought. Maege Mormont had joined in on the meeting. She had been in the Neck for some time and now knew ways around Moat Cailin that others did not. She suggested making contact with the crannogmen and Arya took the advice. Torrhen’s Square had been discussed too. The Ironborn had taken it but it was lightly held and Asha Greyjoy insisted they would yield. Arya did not think she was lying.

 

Rickon was still very unhappy when Arya left to march south but he was a little less difficult this time. The main protest he made was that Arya was going in the same direction Mother and Father and Robb had gone. She tried not to lie to him. She could not promise all would go well.

 

Arya did not share his fear of the South. She was worried for the men marching with her but not for herself. Marching south brought her closer to those on her list. It also brought her closer to Aegon though she did try to tell herself that did not matter.


	42. Chapter 42: Cersei

**Chapter 42: Cersei**

Cersei Lannister wore a mourning dress. Her hair was loose, falling to her shoulders. It had grown back after her walk of shame from the Great Sept of Baelor and was now as thick and golden as it had been before, even though it was much shorter.

 

 _It was a temporary setback_. She was now the proud lioness of Casterly Rock again. She was queen again and she was feared again. Her champion, Ser Robert Strong had ensured that. Unfortunately Margaery Tyrell had been cleared too but Margaery was no longer important.  _She was never important_.

 

Cersei did not like to don mourning but she was mourning.  _My Tommen_. He had been a good boy but he was not strong, not like Joffrey. She had been determined to keep him safe from his enemies. She had done everything she could and they had still gotten to him. Cersei did not believe for one second that he had simply fallen from his horse and been trampled. It had to have been foul play.  _Somebody murdered him, just as Tyrion murdered Joffrey._

 

She had suspected the Dornish were behind it. With both of Cersei’s sons dead, Myrcella was queen.  _They wanted the throne_. She did not discount Tyrion either.  _They may be working together_. Cersei had never trusted the Dornish and she had not forgotten the Red Viper acting as Tyrion’s champion. He had almost managed to free the dwarf, almost. Then Joffrey was still denied justice when the eunuch had helped Tyrion escape.

 

There had been too much death. First Joffrey, then her father and then her uncle Kevan. Cersei had mourned her uncle little to be truthful. He had known about her and Jaime  _and_  he had been conspiring to have her sent away to Casterly Rock. He had tried to remove her claws. With him gone Cersei was free again. She resumed her rightful place. She was Regent again but now Tommen was gone too.

 

Her enemies, Myrcella’s enemies were multiplying. The roses still choked her. Tommen was barely gone when they began to suggest Myrcella should have a better match than Trystane Martell. Cersei knew what they wanted. They wanted to wed her to a rose, that crippled son of Mace Tyrell. She would not stand for it.

 

She had managed to put them off. There were plenty of distractions. The Targaryen, the Ironborn, Stannis and now the Stark girl were all circling. Cersei could feel the imaginary hands trying to tighten around her neck. There was nobody she could trust, not even Jaime. He still had not returned. Cersei had known she needed to act, she needed to secure Myrcella’s throne.

 

She had the urge to smash the cup in her hand remembering the raven from Aegon Targaryen. It had seemed the solution. Cersei had heard how like his father he was. She could still remember Rhaegar, his silver hair and purple eyes. Aegon might have won a few battles but she knew he had no gold. He was not wed and it was said he wanted peace. It was also said that he was beautiful and gentle and kind. If he had wed Myrcella Cersei knew her daughter would be safe. Her daughter could be wed to the son of the man who should have been Cersei’s husband.

 

There was nothing gentle and kind in his response to the proposal. His words spat on her. He threw Robert in her face, as though that was her fault.  _I hated him for killing Rhaegar_. He then moved on to say Myrcella was a usurper and that he knew she was not Robert’s daughter. He threw the death of his mother and sister at her. He threw the Red Wedding at her, things she had no hand in. Worst of all he prated at her over the death of Eddard Stark.

 

The reference to Stark grated on her. The  _honourable_  Eddard Stark had been as much a part of the rebellion as Robert was. It made Cersei remember the letter sent from Storm’s End by Arya Stark. The girl had clearly influenced the prince. Aegon called the execution of Lord Stark murder. Cersei had heard rumours of his weakness for the girl but she had thought them to be rumours only. Now she doubted.

 

Arya Stark was proving to be an obstacle. The girl was meant to be dead. Instead she had claimed Winterfell and the North had risen for her. Even after her youngest brother had somehow been found alive they still pledged service to the girl.  _The Bolton’s have a lot to answer for_. Cersei could not believe it when she had heard that Roose Bolton had given way to Stannis, that Winterfell had been lost. The arrival of the youngest Stark girl and her declarations against the Iron Throne had seemed trivial at first, then the mess in the North had compounded when she took Winterfell and began swearing bloody vengeance.

 

Cersei tried to remember the girl. Much had been made of Sansa’s beauty. She was a stupid girl. Cersei could not recall much of the younger girl. She remembered the incident where the girl’s direwolf had savaged Joffrey. The child had always appeared a dirty, scrawny stick of a thing. Cersei had not paid her much attention. Arya Stark had not been at court as Sansa had. Cersei had not deemed her important until she had been needed as a hostage to try and bring her older brother to heel.

 

Tales were now spreading of Arya Stark, the wild wolf girl. Men flocked to her side. There was talk of her beauty, of her fierceness. They said she was as good with a sword as most men, that she would not submit to marry and that she was shadowed by a huge direwolf which would kill at her command. Men followed her, wanted her, they all but  _worshipped_  her.

 

_They fight me because I have teats yet they will follow this girl_

The rumours of the Stark girl and the Targaryen prince were what made Cersei feel the most unease. She was uncomfortably reminded of Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. It was even said that Arya Stark resembled her aunt. Cersei cursed again that she did not marry Rhaegar. This Aegon would have been  _her_  son and he would not even look at a Stark.

 

 _He refused Myrcella_ ,  _if he marries the Stark girl..._  The prophecy came back to her.

 

_"Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."_

She had thought Maggy had meant Margaery, that was wrong. What if it was the Stark girl? Cersei could not believe that the girl was more beautiful but the stories made her uncertain. If only Joffrey had not killed Eddard Stark. So many things had come to pass from that one moment of madness.

 

Cersei was not going to let the girl take everything from her. She only had one child left and she would do what she had to in order to protect her. She knew what she had to do. She summoned the small council.

 


	43. Chapter 43: Aegon

Chapter 43: Aegon

The men in Maidenpool had given it up almost without a fight. Aegon guessed that between Randyll Tarly having turned on the Lannisters and the imposing sight of Harry Strickland’s elephants, they decided it was not worth it.

 

The town became their base for a time but it was a temporary one. Lord Connington had insisted on coming with Aegon. Aegon was glad to have him with him. He may have looked cold to others most of the time but his presence was reassuring and he gave good counsel.

 

Aegon had waited impatiently for news of Arya. Connington had told him he would be a fool to rush North but the waiting was hard. When a raven did come it was sent to Dragonstone and had to be sent on to Maidenpool. He suspected Lord Connington only told him of the contents because he was worried that a prolonged wait might prompt something reckless.

_I am not a complete fool._  

 

Aegon rejoiced to hear that she was safe. That was followed by the realisation that she had written to Connington, not him. He frowned and tried to restrain himself from responding. In the end he relented.  _I have to address it to her_ he argued to himself,  _she is commanding the men, my new allies, and this is about war._  He kept it formal, following her cue but it was very hard.

 

Lord Connington frowned when he found out Aegon was writing but he did not argue. He did prompt Aegon to tell Arya of his decision regarding the Riverlands Houses. He did not tell him why however until after it was sent.

 

“Her uncle needs to know,” was the explanation.

 

Aegon had words with him over that. He did not like playing games. If Arya’s uncle needed to know something, Aegon would have much preferred to simply write Brynden Tully. When he said as much Lord Connington snorted.

 

“A noble sentiment but your raven may have been burned before he read it. At least this way you know he will get the message.”

 

They did not stay at Maidenpool long. Lord Connington had suggested during a number of their war councils that they needed to send a signal to the Riverlands. It had been discovered that Harrenhal was only lightly held.

 

“It is the seat of Petyr Baelish,” Connington stated. “They took the title of Lord Paramount of the Trident from the Tullys and gave it to him.”

 

Aegon understood. He knew from what Arya had said that Littlefinger had served the Baratheons and Lannisters. The decision to make him Lord Paramount of the Trident would not have sat well with the Riverlands Houses loyal to the Tullys and that was said to be almost all of them. Harrenhal was a prime target. It was said to be cursed but Aegon had no intention of staying there or making it his seat, even temporarily. It was a strategic move, that was all and it would give him a castle to bestow on one of his loyal followers.

 

It was a long march to Harrenhal. It was made worse by all the damage done to the lands. The Lannister soldiers had moved on, said to be in position to defend Kings Landing against any assault but the signs of their former presence were everywhere. The people were frightened and hiding. Their crops had been burnt and they were starving. Aegon cursed the Lannisters yet again.

 

Aegon and his men had food though they did have to ration it. Their provisions were still being replenished by the Reach, one of the only areas where food was still plentiful. Even so, the march was a hard one. Aegon had done most of his travelling by sea. The journey from White Harbour to Winterfell had been longer and that to Maidenpool had its own difficulties but crossing into the Riverlands had a new set of challenges. There were more wolves here and they had no fear of men. There were also outlaws.

 

Arya had told him of the Brotherhood. He knew of Beric Dondarrion but hearing the stories in the Riverlands from the people (the few who overcame their fear to face them) was completely different. Aegon heard of the outlaws killing Freys and Lannister men. There was talk of someone named Stoneheart. Things had changed from what Arya described of her time with the outlaws. Aegon was only thankful his men were not targeted.

 

He could not help feeling more than a little taken aback by Harrenhal as they approached the castle. The sheer size of the castle was dizzying. Aegon had thought Winterfell to be large but it was rather small in comparison with Harrenhal. The sight of the towers melted by dragon fire gave him a reminder of the dragons still coming. It was a reminder of why he was to win Daenerys. Originally he had thought he needed dragons to conquer Westeros. That did not look to be the case. The match was no less important now, it was needed to keep peace and besides, he could not deny he  _wanted_  a dragon.

 

Aegon insisted on being in the party sent to treat with the current castellan of Harrenhal. The man was not what he expected. Ser Bonifer Hasty was a stern, sad looking man who was deeply religious. His first question took Aegon by surprise.

 

“Do you keep the seven, your grace?”

 

Aegon composed himself quickly. “I do ser.”

 

“Do you repent of your sins?”

 

Aegon glanced at the men around him. They were hiding sniggers though Connington had fixed the knight with a cold stare.  _What sins?_

 

“I pray if that is what you are asking Ser.”

 

The knight bent his knee. “I pray that you will be a just and pious King.”

 

Aegon was lost for words.  _They are yielding_.

 

“Why?” he could not help asking.

 

“The Lannisters have committed crimes they do not repent of,” he replied. “They are not the rightful rulers of Westeros. I will pray for you.”

 

Aegon nodded and because he did not know what else to do he thanked the knight. The men moved into the castle. He took quarters himself, making sure he had a heavy guard. He was not overly superstitious but he thought it wise not to take risks. It was not ghosts he was afraid of but he remembered that Harrenhal was where Arya first learned of the faceless men and what they could do. It would be too cruel to meet his end in the same place.

 

He explored the castle, finding it to be a dark and morbid place. He visited the Sept but he also visited the godswood. The heart tree was hard to look at. He could not help feeling from the angry face on the tree that he was not wanted there. It was not like Winterfell at all. The heart tree there was not welcoming but it did not feel like this. He did enjoy the bathhouse. It reminded him of his younger years in the free cities, not that he spent much time in bathhouses. It was odd that after hiding for so long part of him missed the freedom that came from being unimportant.

 

When the time came to hold the war council, there was a squabble. The line of men wanting to claim Harrenhal was rather long. Aegon did not know what to do. He was thankful that Lord Connington intervened, telling them the decision must needs wait for now. When they were relatively alone, he asked Connington’s advice.

 

“It might be wise to keep Bonifer Hasty as castellan for now,” was the answer. “It seems that he has forged some peace here. You can put off naming a Lord of Harrenhal until you take the throne.”

 

It sounded right so Aegon agreed. The decision was met with grumbling when it was announced but Aegon did not need Connington to tell him his supporters would have been more divided if he had made a hasty decision. The Targaryen banner was raised above the castle.

 

They did not want to linger long. Aegon had not been certain of the next move to make. As it turned out Lord Connington already had a plan in mind. He announced it with a grim smile.

 

“The stories we are hearing of these outlaws killing Freys has had me thinking. The smallfolk are loyal to them for it, it seems to be a popular notion. Perhaps we should use that.”

 

Aegon latched onto the idea eagerly. “Are you suggesting we march on the Twins?”

 

Connington nodded. “Between the losses they suffered at Winterfell and the losses they are suffering at the hands of the outlaws they have been weakened. The time is ripe.”

 

This was Aegon’s favourite idea his Hand had suggested so far and he could see a glint in the eyes of the Commanders of the Golden Company and the lords bannermen alike. If the Twins was taken it would be a rich target. The tolls from the Crossing made it so. Harry Strickland was the only one to protest but that was not unusual.

 

Aegon could barely sleep that night thinking of it. The gold would be helpful but that was not the reason he wanted it. It would make him popular but that was not the true reason either though he could not deny that popularity appealed. It would not just win him the smallfolk, he knew it would help cement his alliance with the North and help bring the Riverlands Houses to his cause. There was something else which kept him awake, the wish he knew would be fulfilled in doing this. He could hear her whispers still.

 

_When Arya hears of it she will come._


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

They made for Torrhen’s square first. Maege Mormont had joined them and Arya saw that the Lady of Bear Island rode close by her. Arya often caught the She-Bear studying her. She pretended she did not notice, talking with Duck and Robett Glover at intervals as she usually would, sometimes conversing in the old tongue with the Skagosi in the group and interacting with Lady Maege only when it was clear the She-Bear wished it.

 

_She doubts me as a leader. She is judging me against Robb and Jon._

 

Arya did not blame her though it still bothered her. She knew that Lady Maege and her daughters had grown up as warriors. The She-Bear did not yet know what Arya was capable of. She would find out with time.

 

Arya had put the Blackfish in charge of the scouts. She knew it was a duty he had when Robb was in command and he had looked pleased when she said for him to resume it. There was little for him to report until they got close to Torrhen’s square, then he advised that the Ironborn were still holding the castle but their numbers did not look to be many.

 

She knew that the bannermen thought her to be a foolish, soft-hearted woman for allowing Asha Greyjoy to join them. They did not understand what she saw and they did not trust the Greyjoy woman. Asha had not taken part in the taking of the Dreadfort. Torrhen’s Square was to be her test.

 

Despite the protests, Arya ordered for Asha to go into Torrhen’s Square with the few men she had. Asha had insisted that they would yield. After she and her men left, Maege Mormont questioned the decision in a rather terse tone.

 

“What will you do if they join with the Iron born already in the Square, my lady?”

 

Arya met her gaze, seeing the question for the test that it was. “I’m not stupid my lady. I have her brother in Winterfell’s dungeons.”

 

The She-Bear smiled. “I see.”

 

She was not certain she could kill Theon if it came to that but nobody needed to know that. _This is part of war,_ she told herself. Arya did her best to hide her impatience at how long it was taking. Night had fallen before Asha Greyjoy returned to them.

 

“They will yield if they have assurances they will not be harmed.”

 

Arya nodded her assent amidst murmurs of surprise. Asha Greyjoy must have had a way with words, the Ironborn had been expected to fight to the bitter end. Even with Asha’s confidence beforehand Arya had doubted her chances of success.

 

Torrrhen’s Square was taken bloodlessly and the remaining Tallharts were found intact. They were most pleased to be liberated. Arya scowled to see that the eldest was not much older than her. A light garrison was left to hold the keep.

 

Asha Greyjoy was swearing that Dagmer Cleftjaw, the man behind the sacking of Torrhen’s square, would fight with them as one of her men. The Northmen would not hear of it and Arya knew they were right. Asha Greyjoy had passed her test, the other men were unknown. She had half a mind to send them back to Winterfell to the dungeons. Instead they were kept under guard, unarmed and unharmed but watched. Arya questioned them and from what she could tell they did not intend to harm anybody in her host now. Whether they would remain that way was the question.

 

Arya wrote Rickon and gave the parchment to the maester to send to Winterfell. He seemed flustered when she approached him. It was not the maester from Winterfell, he had remained in the castle. This man was one of the maesters travelling with the lords bannermen. She had not talked with him before and she watched him carefully as he sent off her letter. His agitation seemed more than what she would expect and she decided to keep a watch over him as carefully as she could without raising suspicion. She also confided her concerns to her advisors and to Duck.

 

From Torrhen’s square they went on to Castle Cerwyn then followed the Kingsroad towards Moat Cailin. As they got closer Arya noticed Asha Greyjoy keeping close to her. She muttered often about bog devils and when Arya asked her what she meant she found out it was another name for the crannogmen. She let the Greyjoy woman speak and couldn’t help an urge to smirk when she heard of the tactics used against the Ironborn. Arya may not have lingered near swamps but the use of poison darts was something she was quite familiar with.

 

Maege Mormont was on hand as they neared the Moat. She had been advised of ways to get around Moat Cailin through the bogs and marshes. It was how she got through to Winterfell from Greywater Watch. It was determined that part of the host would split off and approach the Moat from the West while the remainder came from the North. Arya had been told that was Robb’s original plan though he had much larger numbers in his host and he was trying to attack from the South rather than the North. Moat Cailin was better defended from the South therefore even with much fewer numbers Arya’s army was in a good position.

 

“My lady, I think it is wise for you to come with me,” the She-Bear said.

 

There was something in her expression which told Arya not to question her. She nodded. She took advice on how to split the company and left her uncle and Robbet Glover jointly in charge of those who were to attack from the North. She also left him with archers. Some of the men Aegon had left with her were renowned archers from the Golden Company and it was agreed their skill could be put to good use.

 

Arya tried to appear calm as she followed Maege, Nymeria close behind her. It was like the Dreadfort all over again only this time she was even more uncertain. They did not get far before Lady Maege spoke.

 

“It will not be so difficult.”

 

Arya was surprised.

 

“Why not my lady?”

 

The She-Bear smiled. “The crannogmen have been very busy. They do not usually attack Northmen but once they heard of the Bolton’s part in the Red Wedding,” she paused and gave Arya a pointed look, “and once they heard of the imposter, they decided Bolton men were as much an enemy as southron invaders. I expect their numbers have dwindled.”

 

They did not get far into the swamps before Arya saw movement. She was vulnerable in this unknown environment, even with her training and her heart thudded in her chest.  _Fear cuts deeper than swords_. The crannogmen revealed themselves to her and when she saw them giving a nod to her banner Arya felt relief rush through her. They were still Stark men. She had hoped, she had known they had been her father’s men but she had been failed by so many.

 

They had to travel by boat through the bogs and swamps. When Arya’s company emerged headed towards the ruins of the Moat it was a scene of chaos. There were men who had clearly fallen victim to the archers. They had fallen from the towers as those to the North began their attack. Her uncle had not led them into a full force assault, as agreed. They had picked off men as they came into view. Arya knew from Connington that the range of their bows was amongst the longest possible. Robett Glover gave the signal to attack when he saw the banners emerge from the swamp.

 

When the defenders in the towers of Moat Cailin saw they were to be attacked from two directions they panicked. Arya saw a division. There were men who emerged shouting that they yielded while others wanted to staunchly defend the castle. Arya herself was forced to watch the assault. She had to command rather than attack. She had been given the role partly she suspected to ensure her safety but she refused to be simply an onlooker. She took the command seriously and made them listen to her. She made up for her distance by involving Nymeria. The wolf took down as many men as any of the other soldiers and allowed her to see what was happening in the middle of the action, helping her to be a better commander than otherwise.

 

Her efforts were praised afterwards though she did not feel as though she had done much. She was told (in rather surprised tones) that she made a fine commander. She would have liked to retort back about her experience in planning the deaths of men but that would have required revealing to them her time in the House of Black and White and she knew that would not be received well.

 

_Too many know of it already._

 

She was grieved to know that their losses were heavier than when they took the Dreadfort (though they had lost so few there that it was unsurprising). It was what had been expected but that did not make her feel better. She could tell herself that all men must die but it was harder when she commanded those men. At least the number of dead was much less than originally expected and she was told that in terms of battle, the outcome was very good. The crannogmen were largely to thank for that.

 

Arya took the Gatehouse Tower as her seat, just as she had been told Robb had. She wrote again to Rickon as well as to Jon and Connington, handing the letters to Duck to take to the maester and instructing him to watch and make sure they were sent.

 

He returned later than expected, his face twisted in fury and holding the writhing maester in a vice grip. Duck was a big man, far bigger than the short and wiry little maester. The sight would have been funny if not for the expression on Duck’s face.

 

“Tell the little lady what you’ve done,” he said in a thunderous voice.

 

It was the maester she had seen in Torrhen’s Square. Arya took one look at the man and knew they would get nothing. He had soiled himself and he was blubbering but he would not speak.

 

“What did you see Duck?” she asked, trying to be calm.

 

“He’s sending letters off he’s not meant to,” Duck roared. “I saw him, trying to be clever. I couldn’t find out where it was going, I was too late for that but when I asked around nobody had told him to do it.”

 

Arya immediately felt stupid. She had questioned lords, petty lords, knights and even men-at arms trying to find the traitor. She had not thought to question the maesters. She had thought to make sure  _her_  letters were sent off unread but she never thought to make sure the maester was not sending unauthorised letters.

 

“You were contacting Roose Bolton,” she said.

 

Even without speech the expression on the maester’s face confirmed it. Roose Bolton was dead though. The man clearly was not serving the Boltons. She tried to think who else it could be. She tried to ask about the Lannisters but got nowhere with that. In the end she summoned her advisers and told them what had been discovered. They were predictably outraged.

 

Arya let them take the maester off to be questioned knowing it was unlikely to be useful. She was right. Maege Mormont and Whoresbane Umber returned some time later to say he would not speak. The She-Bear looked like she wanted to strangle somebody.

 

“All the fool will say is that he serves and he will not betray that.”

 

Arya sighed. “I expected as much.”

 

They did not even get any last words from the maester. He stayed firm until the end. Arya found Duck afterwards. He was still bothered but he smiled when Arya clasped his hands.

 

“Thankyou.”

 

Duck shook his head. “I never would have known if you hadn’t already been suspicious.”

 

Arya bit her lip. “Let me thank you anyway. If you had not caught him we might not have known for some time.”

 

She had not known what she would do next after they managed to remove the Bolton men from Moat Cailin. Their aim had been to secure the North and as far as they knew, they had now achieved that. Arya expected she would now need to return to Winterfell. Part of her wanted to go back, to be near Rickon and closer to Jon but a large part of her felt unfulfilled.

 

Just as she was feeling undecided Lady Maege darkened her doorway.

 

“My lady, you have an invitation.”

 

Arya looked at her, puzzled. “What invitation?”

 

“The crannogmen,” she She-Bear said. “They were watching you, my lady. You are invited to attend at Greywater Watch.”

 

Arya was suspicious and she remembered the She-Bear’s insistence that she be with the group travelling through the swamps. “You were acting on instruction earlier.”

 

“Yes my lady,” the She-Bear confessed “Lord Reed wished to see you. You needed to go through the swamps to take Moat Cailin so it seemed to serve the purpose well.”

 

“Howland Reed?” Arya asked. She could remember her father mentioning the name. Lord Reed had not been to Winterfell since the Rebellion. “He was watching me?”

 

“He was my lady,” Lady Maege replied. “He wishes to speak with you.”

 


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

 

Arya no longer felt any fear as she travelled by boat through the swamps, she was far more curious than anything else. Greywater Watch seemed to appear quite suddenly. The mists around the floating island parted to reveal the castle and waiting to greet them was two men. Arya recognised one as Galbart Glover. She had not met him before but she could see the resemblance to his brother. Lady Maege informed her that the other was Lord Howland Reed.

 

Howland Reed was a small man, like the other crannogmen. He had thinning brown hair and green eyes. His gaze never left Arya as she carefully climbed out of the boat accompanied by Duck, the Blackfish and the She-Bear. There was a deep sadness in his expression.

 

“Lady Arya Stark,” he began, “I have wanted to meet you for some time.”

 

“My father said good things of you Lord Reed,” Arya said, trying to remember her courtesies. “I am pleased to meet you.”

 

She introduced Duck and the Blackfish. Lord Howland was polite but it was clear that his interest was solely in Arya. She followed him into the castle, accepting the offer of refreshment. They ate and drank but Arya was mindful that the crannogman spent almost the entire time darting glances at her. As soon as they were done he requested a private audience. Arya saw Duck frown but she assured him it would be fine.

 

They had barely been alone before Lord Reed revealed at least part of the reason for his intense interest in her. It was something Arya had already suspected.

 

“Your Aunt was a friend,” he said softly. “You look very like her.”

 

“You are not the first to tell me so my lord,” Arya said stiffly.

 

He paused a moment. “I hear that you are like her in other ways too.”

 

Arya kept her face still, willing herself not to scowl. Lord Reed was not stupid, he picked up on her displeasure.

 

“You mistake my meaning. Have you heard of the Tourney at Harrenhal?” he asked.

 

Arya thought for a moment. “That was where Rhaegar crowned my Aunt Queen of Love and Beauty.” She had heard it at Storm’s End.

 

Lord Reed sighed. “That is what is remembered from that tourney. There was much more than that.”

 

Arya listened as Lord Reed recounted the tale of how he first met the Starks after being set upon by squires, of how her Aunt had defended him. He went on to tell her of the Knight of the Laughing Tree, the mystery knight who had defended his honour and how the knight disappeared after defeating those squires.

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Arya asked.

 

Howland Reed smiled and pointed at the hilt of the dagger Arya wore, causing her to tense.

 

“The knight was your Aunt.”

 

Arya was fairly certain her shock was obvious. She could not hide it.

 

“My Aunt could fight?”

 

Lord Reed nodded. He went on to tell her of the search for the knight, Aerys sent Rhaegar to find him. Arya had a sinking feeling.

 

“He found her, didn’t he?”

 

“I did not know at the time but I suspect so, yes,” he replied.

 

Arya thought of Aegon, of how he had said he was drawn to her strength.  _Lord Reed says I am like her._                                                                                             

 

“People think Rhaegar abducted Lyanna,” she said slowly.

 

The sadness was back in Howland Reed’s eyes. “They do.”

 

“He didn’t did he?”

 

Lord Reed shook his head. “It is not that simple my lady. Lady Lyanna knew little of the world, she was young and Rhaegar was the crown prince.”

 

 “I am the same age she was when she went missing,” Arya replied, feeling uncomfortable.

 

“You are,” Lord Howland said quietly.

 

 _It is not the same_ , she thought. _I am not her no matter how much people say I look like her._

 

Arya began to fiddle with her braid, trying to find anything to do which would mean she did not have to look at her father’s friend. She waited for him to bring up Aegon, sure that this was why he was telling her of the past. He changed the subject.

 

“Tell me of your brothers.”

 

Arya was caught a little off guard but she composed herself quickly.  _He was father’s friend. He wants to know of his other children_. She took a deep breath and began to speak of Rickon first. She felt herself relaxing as she described her fierce, angry little brother. She spoke of his temper, of his grief, his tendency to lash out easily and to lose control.

 

“Despite that he can still be very sweet,” she said softly, unable to help a smile. “He is very protective, he is a good brother.” She looked down at her hands. “He looks like mother and Robb.”

 

Lord Reed nodded and she could see sympathy in his green eyes. Just as she was about to begin a bitter and angry outburst against the Red Wedding he cut her off.

 

“What about Jon?”

 

Arya blinked and thought a moment before talking of her older brother.

 

“He is very like father. He looks like father, just as I do but he is solemn like father too and he is honourable like father.” She sighed. “Honour and duty are very important to Jon.”

 

Lord Reed looked intensely interested, prodding her to continue. Arya spoke far longer than she intended, telling tales of when they were children. Few people had ever been interested in her bastard brother, it felt good to speak of him. She told Lord Reed of how clever Jon was, of how he had always been able to see more than others and how much she loved him. She then confessed how burdened Jon had become. She told Lord Reed of the Night’s Watch, of what Jon had told her of the Wall. She even told him of her annoyance at the red woman’s presence and her talk of prophecies. She abruptly stopped when she saw his reaction.

 

“I had hoped this would not be,” he was muttering.

 

“What, my lord?” she asked curiously.

 

Howland Reed shook his head.

 

“Does Jon ever ask about his mother?”

 

Arya bit her lip before she realised what she was doing. She had forgotten what Ned Dayne had told her of Wylla.

 

“He does not speak to me of it,” she replied, frowning. “It hurt him being treated differently when we were young but he has now turned down three offers to be legitimised.”

 

Howland Reed paled.

 

“Three offers?”

 

Arya looked at him suspiciously. “Yes. Stannis offered him the first time. Then he refused to be Robb’s heir and break his oath and disinherit me and Rickon.”

 

“What was the third,” Lord Reed pressed.

 

Arya flushed. “Aegon offered to legitimise him,” she mumbled. “He is my friend,” she added defensively.           

 

When she made herself look at Howland Reed, she saw he was gripping the table so tightly his knuckles were white.

 

“You must be careful not to repeat history Lady Arya,” he said in a strained voice.

 

Arya lifted her chin defiantly. “I am not my Aunt,” she declared. “There won’t be any war other than the one to avenge my family. Aegon plans to marry his Aunt. She is on her way to Westeros with dragons. Aegon is not his father.”

 

Lord Reed sighed and looked weary. He muttered something about  _dragons_  which Arya did not catch. “I do not believe they are so different.  The news has reached me that Prince Aegon is marching towards the Twins.”

 

Arya leapt to her feet.  _The Freys._  She muttered excuses and darted through the door to find Duck and the Blackfish. She blurted the news the moment she saw them. The She-Bear reacted more strongly than the other two, looking rather satisfied. The Blackfish looked like he did not know what to think.

 

“We have to go.”

 

“Lady Arya,” she heard Lord Reed’s voice behind her. She turned to look at him. “Please stay.”

 

“I cannot my lord,” Arya said firmly. “The Freys must answer to the North.”

 

Howland Reed had that sad look in his eyes again. “You have her boldness.”

 

“I am not her, my lord,” she said stubbornly. She quickly tried to soften it. “Thank you for your help and for your loyalty to my family.”

 

He knelt. “Our allegiance remains to the Starks.”

 

Arya left not only accompanied by Duck, the Blackfish and Lady Maege but also Galbart Glover and his men. When they emerged from the swamp and met those at Moat Cailin, the men reacted as she had expected. They would march for the Twins at first light.

 

The Blackfish sought her out afterwards, dropping into a seat across from her as she sipped at a cup of their low supply of wine. His lean frame took on the appearance of a relaxed bearing but she could see tension in his craggy face.

 

“I wonder at the motivations of this Prince, child.”

 

Arya made sure not to betray anything. She decided just this once not to scold him for calling her child.

 

“Do you uncle?” she asked. “I do not.”

 

He gave her a sidelong look.

 

“What is he like?”

 

 _Careful now_. Arya paused, trying to think of how to describe Aegon.

 

“He is very trusting, sometimes too trusting. He is bold and brave but it borders on reckless at times. He can be stubborn and he can be impatient.”

 

“You make him sound terrible,” Ser Brynden interjected.

 

Arya shook her head. “He is not at all bad. He is also honest, generous, loyal, kind, very clever. He acknowledges his mistakes, even if it takes him time and is quick to make amends. He listens to people, both smallfolk and noble and he knows his history,” she paused. “He does not want to repeat the past.”

 

“You know him well?” the Blackfish asked suspiciously.

 

_He has heard the rumours_

 

Arya attempted to shrug off the comment. “If you had spoken with him as much as I have you would know him too.”

 

She was relieved when he let it drop. Sleep did not want to come for Arya that night. Her head was full of the things Howland Reed had said and thoughts of vengeance against the Freys.  _I will avenge mother and Robb_. The Boltons were finished. The Freys would be next. When she rose the next morning she was ready before anybody else.

 

_We are coming Walder Frey._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I’m a tease. Jon’s parentage will be revealed, just not to Arya first :-)


	46. Chapter 46: Connington

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter assumes that even though Jaime asked for the Freys to hand over their prisoners, after he disappeared they did not do it. They are shifty after all and they pretty much told Jaime they didn’t want to do it.  
> 

**Chapter 46: Connington**

 

The march from Harrenhal to the Twins had been fraught with difficulty. Crossing the Trident had been the largest challenge by far. Harry Strickland lamented the loss of some of his elephants. Jon wanted to tell him he should be thankful he had any left at all. The river was not running as rapidly as it might during spring, the snows had replaced the rain and slowed the flow of it. It was icy in parts and Jon suspected that if it got much colder it would freeze over.

 

When they got past the river, the going was less difficult but it became colder. The snow fell more often and was heavier. Jon was thankful for the men of the Golden Company. Despite the conditions not being what they were used to, they kept their discipline and set off early each day, covering maximum ground. The bannermen and knights were less disciplined but did not want to be left behind so kept moving far more than they might have if the sellswords had not been part of the company.

 

At some point along the way they picked up a singer. He seemed to have his woodharp attached to one arm permanently. He was small, dressed in ragged garments and at least fifty. Jon did not like the look of him but he knew a lot of bawdy songs and he smiled often and easily and he had won over Aegon. The prince had said he could stay and entertain the men with his singing so there was naught to be done about it.

 

As they drew close to their target Jon dwelled more on the difficulties they would face. He was not familiar with the castle itself. He knew it more by reputation. The Freys had held the Crossing for six hundred years. They will not give in easily.  They were known to be treacherous. Jon knew they were extremely unlikely to just yield, they had an agreement with the Lannisters which had spared them from answering for the Red Wedding. They would know that they would be held accountable by Aegon, particularly if word had now spread of the alliance with the North.

 

When the Crossing came within view, they set up camp. It was unlikely they would be attacked but the men set to work quickly, digging a ditch around the camp with sharpened stakes inside. While they were working Jon rode closer to the Twins accompanied by outriders to see what they were facing. It was even more formidable than he expected. He had thought they might storm the castle but it was not going to be so simple.

 

The bridge spanning the Green Fork was guarded on either end by the two identical stone castles, the Twins. They were shielded by high curtain walls, deep moats and heavy gates protecting the approach. Jon could see spears, swords and scorpions on the battlements and archers ready at the crenels and arrow slits. Access was barred by the gates and the portcullis was unlikely to be raised for them. Even weakened the Freys were well defended.

 

A prolonged siege was going to be a problem, it would not work laying siege to the castle in front of them while the castle of the other side of the bridge could lend aid. Their company would not hope to outlast the Freys, they were not provisioned well enough. Jon expected they would need to resort to a different sort of tactic.  _Aegon is not going to like what I am thinking_.

 

They began to build trebuchets to begin with. Even though a siege had little chance of success, Jon knew the construction would send some message of their intentions. The trebuchets would allow them to strike some blow.

 

They had finished building the trebuchets and were about to put them to use when Jon saw movement on the opposite side of the Crossing. A host had gathered to make camp outside the other castle. He did not have to squint very hard to make out the direwolf of Stark on the lead banner. He had not received a raven from the Stark girl but that did not surprise him. If she had sent anything it would have been in either Maidenpool or Harrenhal.

 

The arrival of the Northern army on the opposite bank prompted movement from the Twins. A plank bridge spanned the moat and a small group of men rode forth from their side of the Crossing bearing the banner of the twin towers. Jon barked to some of the men nearby him, quickly assembling his own small party to meet with the Frey spokesmen. Prince Aegon was out of sight and out of earshot, a fact Jon was thankful for. The Prince was unlikely to approve of what Jon was going to say.

 

A pallid, slender man led the Frey representatives. “My Lord Grandfather has sent me to speak for House Frey,” he began. “I am Edwyn Frey; I am to inquire as to who leads the host,” he looked disdainfully at the trebuchets, “and to ask what is it you want to achieve here.”

 

Jon studied him.  _This man is cold and he knows hate_. It could be seen in the way he held himself and the twist of his mouth.

 

“I am Lord Jon Connington and I command here on behalf of Prince Aegon,” he replied. “I think you know what we want to achieve.”

 

Edwin Frey fixed him with a cold stare. “You think to take the castle.”

 

Jon let the silence hang.

 

“I should let you know that we have prisoners,” Edwyn said with a glint in his eyes. “We are prepared to kill them.”

 

Jon had expected this. It was the reason he was glad Aegon was not with him for this meeting. Aegon thought he could deal with men like this but he was too young, he might become hot headed and if not that, he had a tendency to be too soft and too lenient and that would not do here. A hard man was needed for this, somebody who would do whatever needed to be done. Jon would not make the mistake he made in the Battle of the Bells. Miles Toyne’s words echoed in his head  _Lord Tywin would not have bothered with a search._

 

“You could do that,” Jon said calmly, meeting Edwyn’s stare with equal coldness. “If you do I will be sure to burn the Twins down with everybody still inside. It will take time I don’t doubt but I have patience. When I am certain that nobody has eluded me I will then hunt down any Freys who remain in Westeros wherever they may be and I will have them put to the sword.”

 

Edwyn Frey shrank back and his companions paled. “You can’t do that,” he said, suddenly looking uncertain. “You wouldn’t. Prince Aegon...”

 

Jon made a dismissive gesture. “Prince Aegon will have no part in it. He is not in command, I am. The prince will be suitably horrified, he will want me punished I’m sure but I expect that the North might shield me. Nobody will really mourn. They may bleat about it and the North will be unhappy at justice being taken from their hands but most will whisper in secret that you brought it on yourselves. They may even write a song about it.”

 

He could see Edwyn had lost all confidence and the look of disdain was gone. The silence was broken when the singer plucked a string on his woodharp. Jon glanced at him. He wasn’t sure how or when the man had joined the group but the expression on the singer’s face was not even close to an easygoing smile now. Jon shared a look of understanding with the man as he burst into song. He and his men retreated back to their camp with the words to the Rains of Castamere still ringing in their ears.

 

The Freys still did not yield but Jon had not expected them to. Walder Frey was vain and prickly and full of spite. He was going to force the conflict to be as bloody as possible. They readied the trebuchets and began flinging stones. When a breach was made, he instructed the archers to let loose bolts dipped in burning pitch. Part of the castle caught fire.

 

_They would have thought I was bluffing. This will prove I am not._

 

Aegon was in his pavilion. He had asked about what Jon planned to do and Jon had given him some details but he had not told him of the conversation with Edwyn Frey. The Prince had watched the beginnings of the assault but laying siege to a castle was long and tiring work and he had since retired, telling Jon to call him if he was needed.

 

It became interesting as the flames tried to catch. The flames were put out after a time and Jon saw a procession of Freys fleeing to the other castle. Some were not there long before they returned. Edwyn Frey was seen crossing the moat again. Jon rode to meet him. He looked haggard.

 

“My lord grandfather is dead,” he said. “So is my brother. I am now Lord of the Crossing.”

 

Jon thought on that a moment. “How did they die?”

 

“In their beds,” Edwyn said abruptly, swinging a glance over his shoulder. Jon saw where he was looking. It was the castle the Northern army had camped near. There was something Edwyn Frey was not saying. Jon could guess what it was.  _They did not die in their sleep._

 

“What terms will you offer if we surrender.”

 

“Are the prisoners alive?” Jon asked.

 

Edwyn’s expression flickered “Most of them.”

 

Jon ground his teeth.  _Damn them_.

 

“We will not discuss terms until you release the prisoners.”

 

Edwyn glowered.

 

“You might kill us if we release them.”

 

Jon did not flinch from the accusation. “We  _will_  kill you if you don’t. I suppose you could try to negotiate with the Northmen if you are not interested in hearing me.”

 

Edwyn’s mouth twisted.

 

“The Blackfish would not hear us. The direwolf killed some of the party when we tried a second time. Somebody needs to put an end to that creature.”

 

Jon smiled a grim smile. “You have not met Lady Arya?”

 

Edwyn snorted. “She hides.”

 

Jon knew Arya Stark was no coward. Whatever she was doing, hiding was not it. By the next morning, a different party was crossing the moat. Jon could not help being curious. The man in the lead was older than Edwyn Frey.

“Where is Edwyn?” he asked.

 

“Dead,” was the reply. “I am Walton Frey. I’m now the Lord of the Crossing.”

 

_For how long?_

 

“We will give you the prisoners,” Lord Walton said, looking anxious.

 

Jon nodded. “We make no promises until they are handed over.”                  

 

It took some time for the prisoners to be led from their cells and marched out. There were far fewer than Jon expected.  _They killed everybody else_. He checked them over. One of them was a large man, almost seven feet tall and heavily muscled despite his time in captivity. His eyes gleamed with defiance. He grabbed Jon’s arm.

 

“What did you give them to let us go?”

 

“Nothing,” Jon replied. “I would not talk while they held you”

 

The big man grinned. “They’re scared.”

 

“They should be.”                                     

 

He looked at Jon distastefully. “It isn’t your lot they are scared of my lord.”

 

_What does he know?_

“You have seen her,” Jon guessed.

 

“You are Lord Connington,” the big man said. “They call me the Greatjon.” He lowered his voice. “Lady Arya sends her regards.”

 

 


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the singer is Tom from BWB.

Chapter 47

Being so close to the Twins brought back painful memories for Arya. She tried to repress them as best she could. She could see the dragon banners in the distance on the other side of the crossing. She tried to keep her mind on what she came here to do.

 

Ser Brynden did not want her to meet with the Freys when they sent men out to talk with them. She knew he was worried that they might target her as they had killed her mother and Robb. His blue eyes were sad when he spoke to her about it, asking that he treat with them instead. The Tullys were after all the rightful liege lords of the Riverlands.

 

“They have no honour child.”

 

She humoured him but made sure Nymeria was close. Her uncle did not spare the Freys his disdain and hate when they came out to more or less tell them to leave. The Northmen could not really assault the castle but they could see that Aegon’s forces were intent on inflicting damage and having an army guarding the other side of the crossing prevented the Freys from bringing in aid and provisions.

 

Arya had watched how the Frey men came and went from the castle. The Twins would be difficult to access. The moat was an obstacle Arya had not encountered before. She spent her day watching and resting. There was little else to do and she had plans in mind for her nights.

 

The Blackfish was in command of the scouts, just as he had been on the march to the Twins. He spent the night watching to make sure the Freys did not manage to send out men to gather supplies. What he did not know was that Arya was watching as well. When the Frey men made their move, Arya took advantage of the distraction. She managed to gain access to the castle while her uncle and his men disposed of those trying to bypass the Northmen and their camp.

 

Being a woman had its advantages. She donned a roughspun dress over her breeches and wore a different face. The men in the castle easily took her for a servant. From there she was able to find her way around the castle and to hear what the Freys were saying. She was determined to put her training to use, keeping in mind what the Kindly man had once told her. If she was successful, nobody should even know she had been there.

 

It did not take long to learn that the Freys were fighting amongst themselves. She learned that they held prisoners from the Red Wedding. They had met with Connington and had threatened to kill the prisoners. Connington in turn had threatened to burn down the Twins and kill every Frey in the seven kingdoms. Arya had to use everything she had to suppress a smile over Connington’s strategy.

 

_I cannot let it come to that._

 

The Freys had different ideas on what should be done but Lord Walder Frey’s word was final. He wanted the prisoners killed just out of spite. He did not believe Connington would really burn them but others were not so sure. Arya heard them arguing over it. She knew Connington well enough to know he was not one to make empty threats.

 

While they were arguing, Arya made her way along the tables under the pretence of serving. She hated being in the hall, knowing this was where Robb and her mother were killed. She felt nothing as she gained access to the dais, refilling Walder Frey’s cup and slipping the poison in unnoticed. Arya did not particularly like using poison for this but she needed to use a method which would not draw attention. By the time the poison worked she would be long gone.

 

She visited the prisoners in the cells before she returned to the camp. There was no guard. The Freys clearly did not expect anybody to try to free them. Arya was tempted for just a moment but she knew it was madness. They would be killed before they could make it far through the castle, even if she managed to get out herself. Instead she held her finger to her lips to warn them not to make a sound. They looked back at her with emotionless expressions.

 

_They do not know who I am._

 

She had her own face but she suddenly realised it was unlikely they even knew she was alive. The Freys would not have wanted their prisoners to know that Starks still lived. She stepped forward, wrapping her fingers around the bars of one cell.

 

“I will come back for you,” she whispered. “I will avenge Robb and my mother and I will return.”

 

The man inside looked at her as though he thought she was mad. She saw him look a little closer and his eyes widened.

 

“Gods, you’re the Stark girl!”

 

She nodded and allowed her lips to curl into a small smile. This was the one time she had found her resemblance to her Aunt useful. They began to express fear of her being caught and she hushed them.

 

“I am Arya Stark. What remains of the Northern army is guarding this castle. Prince Aegon’s forces are about to lay siege to the other castle. I must go but I will be back.” She put her finger to her lips again. “Do not tell them I was here.”

 

It was more difficult to get back to the camp. Arya ended up in the water and was soaked and shivering when she returned to her tent. She was fortunate that the Freys had sent all their archers to the other castle otherwise her splash surely would have earned her at least one arrow. She would need to be more careful. Duck was waiting for her. He wrapped a warm cloak around her and shook his head.

 

“You are lucky nobody came looking for you.”

 

By the next night the trebuchets had been in action on the other side of the Crossing. As flames started to lick at the castle Arya took advantage of the mayhem to access the other castle again. A plank bridge had been produced but whatever plans they had for it had been abandoned when the other castle had caught fire.

 

Inside the castle, she heard that Walder Frey was dying. She used her disguise again and followed the passages to find his chambers. Before she could make it there, a man grabbed her around the waist despite her efforts at evading him. She thought about whipping out her finger knife then realised there were too many witnesses. He groped her and began to pull her along.

 

She realised who he was before they made it to his chambers. They called him Black Walder and he was known for bedding the Frey women and servants alike. Her skin crawled from his touch. Arya had only ever wanted one man touch her and he was gentle, he said he would be good to her and he was. Black Walder was rough. Arya had not intended to kill him yet but in that instant she changed her mind. As soon as he pulled her into a private room she sunk her blade into his neck, leaving his body on his bed.

 

She wiped the blade clean on his clothes, counting herself lucky that she had not gotten blood on her own clothes. When she finally made it to Walder Frey’s chambers, the maester had just left him. He was sleeping and looked as though it would not be long before his end. She took out her dagger and carved a message on the wall.  _The North Remembers._

 

She stopped by the cells again before leaving. The prisoners were quicker reacting this time. The man she had spoken to the previous night jumped to his feet.

 

“Lady Arya.”

 

She smiled for him. “You are the Greatjon. Lord Frey is dying. It will not be long now.”

 

He spat. “They want us dead.”

 

She frowned. “The other castle is on fire. Freys are dying in this one. They must see soon they won’t last.”

 

His expression changed slowly to a grin. “Freys are dying?”

 

She pulled out her dagger and searched the walls, looking for a place to carve another message.

 

“Yes.”

 

She began scratching into a wooden panel.

 

“Give me names,” she said. “I will see that it is done.”

 

They not only gave her names, they also told her more of what happened on the day of the wedding. Arya found Lame Lothar Frey before she left. He was in his bed and had barely woken before she slit his throat. Nobody had found her message yet. Nobody was looking for an intruder before she left. By the time she made it back to the camp, thankfully dry this time the fire had been all but put out in the other castle. Duck looked tired.

 

“Your uncle came looking for you. I made an excuse but he is starting to suspect.”

 

The Freys sent out men to speak with the Northmen very early. Arya knew what they were going to say and did not want to give them the chance. She could not have the Northmen know what she had done yet. She slipped into Nymeria’s skin and killed two of them before the rest retreated quickly back into the castle.

 

On her final night time visit to the Twins, she quickly discovered that the new Lord of the Crossing, Edwyn Frey, was no better than Lord Walder had been. Her messages had not been received well. They did not want to release the prisoners.

 

Edwyn Frey was easy to find. He had taken his father’s quarters even though Lord Frey was barely gone. Arya had taken the face of one of the Frey women and he did not suspect. Arya moved quickly behind him to draw her blade and he made no sound. When she left him she found Raymund Frey. When she finished with him she retreated again after one last visit to the cells. There was a guard this time but it was easy to get past him to speak with the prisoners and leave a message for Connington.

 

She watched as the prisoners were marched out the next day. Her uncle stood alongside her along with her other advisers. They were all looking at her suspiciously.

 

“Should I ask where you were last night Arya?” he said hesitantly.

 

Arya did not met his gaze. “I left my tent. I am not sorry uncle.”

 

He frowned. “We caught Freys last night trying to get away from the Twins. They said that...”

 

“Freys lie,” Arya replied quickly, too quickly.

 

“How did you-” Ser Robett began, looking incredulous

 

Arya shook her head. “I cannot say.” She could see by their expression that it would not be enough so she added in a low voice “I was taught more skills than needlework in Braavos.”

 

They tried to press her but Arya did not relent. _Nobody else can know I was at the House of Black and White._  They might be learning some of what she could do but she could not tell them how, she could not spread the secret any further. They whispered of magic when she did not explain and Arya sighed and supposed she must let them think it.

 

_People label everything they cannot explain as sorcery._

 

The hours passed slowly as the Freys surrendered on the other side of the Crossing. Arya watched as the Targaryen banner began to fly above the Twins. She could not suppress a frown.

 

It was almost nightfall when the gates were opened on their side. The drawbridge was lowered and the portcullis was raised. Arya took a deep breath and readied herself.

 


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

Arya was determined that she was going to ride with the group setting out to treat with the Targaryen representatives. Nobody tried to argue with her, they all knew better by now. It was her duty anyway, she _had_ to meet with their allies.

 

She held her head high as they rode forward, nudging her courser into a trot as they crossed the drawbridge and entered the grounds of the castle. They were meeting on the bridge between the castles near the water tower. She couldn’t help feeling a little nervous though she also felt proud to be riding under the Stark banners. The Blackfish was by her side along with Duck, Ser Robett Glover and the She-Bear. Arya was determined to hold her own. Nymeria loped along beside them.

 

They spotted the small group moving steadily forward to meet them, the dragon banner leading the way. It only took Arya an instant to recognise one of them and she had to steel herself.

 

“Aegon is with them,” she murmured.

 

Duck’s face had lit up. Her uncle Brynden looked surprised and rather suspicious. Ser Robett and the She-Bear merely looked curious.

 

“Are you certain?” Ser Brynden asked.

 

Arya nodded. She would recognise him anywhere. He wore his black armour inset with red stones. Even though some thought it a bad omen to have armour like Rhaegar’s Aegon had been stubborn, she remembered it well. His cloak was Targaryen colours. She could see his silvery hair blowing in the breeze as they drew closer. He and his men dismounted first. She recognised them as his guards and a couple of the leading commanders of the Golden Company.

 

Arya slid from the saddle. She could feel the tension coming from the Blackfish. His brother had, after all, fought against the Targaryens when Aerys had the throne. She put a hand on his arm in the hopes it would calm him.

 

She felt her heart flutter a little in her chest as the two parties met and she desperately hoped her face wasn’t betraying anything. Aegon was smiling though she could see he was uncertain and trying to hide it. Duck immediately knelt but the others did not. Aegon bid Duck to rise and clasped his arm enthusiastically. Nymeria greeted Aegon as though no time had passed, sniffing at him like she would another wolf. He bent and ruffled the fur around her neck and Arya saw those in her group look taken aback.

 

“Lady Arya,” he greeted her. “It is good to see you again. I hope that Lord Rickon is well.” She saw him study her and look concerned.

 

Arya gave him a formal nod of acknowledgement. “My brother is well, thank you Your Grace. He sends greetings from Winterfell.”

 

He looked disconcerted by her formal tone and Arya wanted to hit him.  _Don’t say anything stupid,_  she thought. The Blackfish was already suspicious, it wouldn’t take much. Aegon quickly flicked his eyes to the others in the group and Arya wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. She began introductions. Aegon acknowledged each of them politely. Arya introduced her uncle last.

 

“This is Ser Brynden Tully.”

 

Arya saw both men tense. The Blackfish was unsmiling. Aegon began to speak in a respectful tone.

 

“Ser, the North is fortunate to have such an able and experienced adviser. I heard what happened at Riverrun. I do hope to restore it to your family.”

 

“Why?” the Blackfish asked sharply.

 

Aegon looked taken aback and Arya felt mortified. “Uncle!” she protested.

 

Aegon’s expression darkened but then he met her gaze and he softened. “I am not my grandfather. I do not wish for old grudges to fester.” A brief and awkward silence fell and Ser Brynden did not look convinced. Arya wanted to plead with him but she couldn’t, not in front of everybody. Aegon cleared his throat. “The Riverlands will not know peace in my reign  unless they have the right liege lord. I am not fool enough to think they will submit to another, particularly after what has passed.”

 

He turned to Arya and grinned, even if he did look a little strained still. “I don’t know why you are looking so worried my Lady. I never took offense when you spoke your mind. I’m certainly not going to be offended by your uncle doing the same. It is the people who do not say what they mean who worry me.”

 

The Blackfish still was not smiling but he appeared more relaxed. “Good to see you have some sense boy.”

                  

Arya interjected next. There were other things which needed to be said.

 

“You are flying the Targaryen banner above the castle.”

 

He frowned. “Yes.”

 

Arya tried to be patient. “The Stark banner must be raised.”

 

She saw him look dismayed. “Of course, it will be added. You must not think-“

 

Arya cut him off before he could say anything too familiar. “We will also need to meet with Lord Connington. The prisoners from the wedding must be returned to us.”

 

Aegon was beginning to look a little more strained. “That was the agreement my lady.”

 

Arya felt eyes on her. Those in her party looked satisfied. The Blackfish no longer looked at all suspicious. She nodded to Aegon and he sighed, looking weary.

 

“I would be pleased if you and your men would join me my lady. We are well provisioned here and I would like to celebrate our alliance.”

 

“We would like that too, Your Grace,” Arya replied, trying to sound less abrupt.

 

She returned to the camp briefly then let the others gather the men. She sought out Connington before attending the feast. He was sitting at a table in a room extending off the great hall writing letters. She was surprised to see him smile at her though it barely met his eyes.

 

“You have been quite formidable.”

 

She took a seat near him. She was alone apart from Nymeria. Her advisors had objected but she had told them she would be quite safe. Connington did not react to the direwolf.

 

“I have had to be,” she replied. “Are you well my lord?”

 

He nodded. “As well as I can expect to be.”

 

They studied each other briefly. Connington broke the silence first.

 

“The Prince tells me you requested the prisoners. They were mingling in our camp. I expect that they are on their way to the feast now.”

 

Arya nodded. “I know what you said to Edwyn Frey.”

 

“Aegon does not know,” he said quickly.

 

Arya knew what he meant. It was not about what he had said. Aegon would hear of that easily enough. Arya could tell what Connington’s real concern was. He had  _meant_  what he said and Arya knew it. She also knew Aegon would not have agreed.

 

“I will not tell him,” she assured him. “What were the terms of the surrender?”

 

Connington grimaced. “Those not involved in the Red Wedding will be unharmed. They all deny personal involvement but quite a few are pointing fingers at each other. They have been confined in the other castle and we have men guarding them.”

 

“I will question them,” Arya said grimly. “We will punish those who took part. The banner-“

 

“It is being raised now,” Connington replied. “What are your intentions?”

 

Arya knew what he was asking. She could not answer him. She did not know.

 

“I intend to eat, my lord.”

 

He glowered at her and she pretended not to notice.

 

Arya ate better than she had in some time. There was no shortage of food in the Twins and it was warm inside though Arya was not overly comfortable given what had passed in the castle. She tried her best not to be seen but she couldn’t help glancing at Aegon more than once. He had seated her and Ser Brynden in places of honour as befit the representatives of the North and the Riverlands so she was seated very close by him.

 

She retreated from the hall when the wine began to flow more freely and the men became more raucous. She heard somebody begin singing but she was not in the mood. She thought she had managed to escape undetected but it was not long before she heard footsteps. He ducked into an alcove and Arya followed. He still looked strained.

 

“I had to ask those things,” she blurted. “They expect me to. It wasn’t because I think badly of you.”

 

The tension visibly left him.

 

“You haven’t been eating well,” he said, his violet eyes looking concerned.

 

Arya knew she was thinner. She hadn’t given it much thought as long as she still ate. Aegon was lean but he always had been. He did not appear very different.

 

She shrugged. “It is winter. I’m not the only one.” She looked down the passage. “I hate being here.”

 

“I know,” he murmured.

 

Aegon’s gaze penetrated her and she felt almost naked. She tried not to think of him touching her.

 

 “You were supposed to forget me,” she said softly.

 

His hands twitched. “I tried,” he said abruptly. “I couldn’t.” He looked around with a worried expression. “If we are seen it will go badly for you.”

 

 _He has grown up a little_ , she thought.  _He is less reckless_. She knew he was right but she could see the desperation in his expression.  _He is only trying to hold back for my sake_. She stretched her hands out at the same time he did and their fingertips met. It was just the lightest contact but it was enough. She knew she needed to see him, to talk with him and not like this.

 

“I will find you later,” she whispered.

 

She left before he could answer.

 

It was very difficult to make her escape. Too many people demanded her time. It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that she was able to leave the quarters she had been given, a disguise in place in case she was spotted, and move quiet as a shadow until she found his chambers. His guards were not difficult to evade. He had clearly requested space. Aegon was still wide awake and waiting, sitting in the solar.

 

“I started to think you wouldn’t come,” he said.

 

Arya resisted the urge to lecture him about his safety, instead dropping into a seat across from him. She suddenly felt nervous. She looked around the room. It was so heavily ornamented with his things that she almost could not recognise it as being part of the Twins. His cloak was hanging in place of the Frey tapestry. Aegon cleared his throat.

 

“How are you  _really_?” He smiled, gently this time. “You are good at hiding things but I know you better than to believe all is well.”

 

She hesitated, looking down at her hands. “It is so  _hard_  Aegon, even harder than I thought. People expect so much.”

 

His fingers grasped hers and she looked up at him, feeling startled. She could see understanding in his features.  _This is what he faces every day too_. He prompted her gently to go on. The floodgates opened and she told him everything she could. She had forgotten how easy he was to talk to. She told him of Rickon, of how close they had become and how he was learning to be a lord, even if it was hard for him. She told him of Jon, how close they were now and yet she could not see him. His visit had been so brief and it only made her miss him more.

 

“He knows about us,” she admitted. “He has this way of seeing things.”

 

“It must be in your blood,” Aegon teased gently and Arya shook her head, thinking of others in her family who had suffered for not seeing. “I knew he knew something,” Aegon said softly. “He sent me a raven. It was rather abrupt.”

 

Arya pushed the painful thoughts aside and thought of Jon instead. She could not suppress a smile at Aegon’s expression. She did not tell him of Robb’s Will and the vision and she did not tell him of the attempt on her life. The Will would only anger him, the vision might give him ideas and the attempted poisoning-she knew he would take that worst of all. She did tell him almost everything else. In turn he told her of his own struggles, how many of his supporters constantly wanted things from him. He spoke of how he had nobody to really talk to. He said how he worried of making the wrong decisions.

 

“You will do what is right,” she whispered. “I know you will.”

 

She met his gaze again. In the candlelight his eyes looked almost black. His thumb began to stroke her palm and she felt a shiver go through her. The gesture was quite innocent. Her reaction was anything but and she could tell he knew.

 

“I did not intend to impose on you this time,” he said.

 

He was pleased by her reaction, she could see he was pleased. Arya saw him look at her lips and knew what he was thinking even if he did not make any further advance. 

 

“I’m not sure why you want me,” she said, frowning. “I smell most of the time, I’m dirty and I dress like one of the soldiers.”

 

Aegon grinned. “It only makes you more interesting. Anyway, I like the way you dress. You’re like a warrior princess.”

 

Arya flinched.  _That word again_. “I’ve killed men,” she said flatly. “I killed Ramsay.”

 

If she thought that would put him off she was wrong. He leaned towards her, his hand came up to cup her face and his thumb brushed her bottom lip. Suddenly, he pulled back, shaking his head. “If they find you here it will ruin you. I should not have kept you this long.”

 

He never tried to hold back before and it only made Arya want to stay more. All of her arguments, all thoughts of how she must tell him to let her be fled. She moved closer to him, taking his hand again and brushing her lips lightly against his, her other hand squeezed his knee. He had grown whiskers and it tickled as she kissed him, making her smile. Aegon looked startled. “Are you sure?”

 

She knew she was going to make trouble but she was tired of duty, tired of being denied what she wanted to do. She wanted just one thing for herself so she nodded.

 

His expression was full of wonder as though he almost couldn’t believe what was happening as he pulled her into his lap. His mouth was tentative against hers at first, then hungry as his tongue began to seek hers. He must have been drinking spiced wine. Arya could taste it. His fingers threaded through her hair as his other hand pressed against her back, holding her close to him. He nuzzled her neck and when his teeth scraped her earlobe the jolt that went through her removed what little self control remained.

 

She pulled away to begin shedding her clothing. There was a minor clatter as her knife hit the floor and she heard Aegon chuckle quietly. He moved slowly, barely touching her but she felt a rush of heat at the way he looked at her. It only made her need greater. He did let her pull his jerkin and tunic off with fumbling fingers. She heard his breath catch as she ran her hands over his chest and pressed her lips to the puckered scar he wore from his injury at Dragonstone, muttering to him how angry she was when he wrote her about it. His lips returned to hers, stifling her lecture and when his calloused fingers ghosted lightly over her skin, doing enough to excite her but not nearly enough to satisfy her she whimpered.

 

“I  _want_ you Aegon,” she whispered.

 

He lifted her with ease, carrying her to his bed. His touch became more insistent as he impatiently worked to remove what little fabric remained between them. In no time they were tangled limbs, completely intertwined. Aegon was telling her he  _missed_  her, he  _loved_  her and Arya forgot her worry, her fear, her pain as she focused only on him and what he was doing to her. When he finally pushed inside her she eagerly wrapped her legs around him, wanting him closer, pulling him deeper and he uttered a strangled moan.

 

He didn’t last long and Arya tried to suppress her frustration but he knew.

 

“It has been so long,” he said, half defensive and half apologetic.

 

She was about to try and say it didn’t matter when he ran his fingers along her thigh and slipped them inside her. Her moan was stifled by his mouth on hers again. He knew her body well, had learned it from their other stolen nights together and it wasn’t long before he gave her the release she had craved for so many moons. She trembled against him and for just a few moments she was at peace.

 

Aegon reached over her, covering them with a warm fur and Arya stayed in his embrace, knowing she needed to leave but putting it off just a little longer. It felt good to be held and Aegon looked so content. She didn’t want to ruin it just yet. She knew she had to though when his eyelids drooped.

 

“We can’t keep doing this,” she said wistfully, laying her head against his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair.

 

“We could,” Aegon said hesitantly.

 

Arya frowned as she looked up at him. “You have to-“

 

“Win Daenerys,” he said impatiently “I know.” He smiled. “Targaryen’s have taken two wives before you know.”

 

He had thought about it a lot. She could tell he had thought about it a lot and she was more torn than she had ever been before.  _I want to say yes_  she realised with a shock. It wasn’t that she wanted marriage and she definitely did not want to be one of _two_ wives but she wanted _him_. She wanted to be free to talk with him when she wanted, to touch him and have him touch her without hiding and without judgement.

_It won’t be that way, even if I want it to be._

 

She thought about King’s Landing, of the court there. She thought of what would be expected of her and knew it would feel like a prison. She thought of Winterfell, her family and her list.  _I need to finish it_. She might want him but she wanted freedom more, even though she had little of it. He looked so hopeful that Arya felt cruel. “I can’t. I can’t marry and I definitely can’t be queen.”

 

His face fell.

 

“Daenerys wouldn’t agree anyway,” she said, trying to soften it. She took his head in her hands. “Please don’t hate me.”

 

“I could never,” he protested. He smiled but she could see it was strained. “I shouldn’t have asked. I should know better.”

 

Arya knew she should be leaving. She would only make it worse but she couldn’t leave things as they were.  _One last time_  she told herself as he pressed his lips to hers and her fingers traced down his body and found him wanting her again.

 

***

 

When morning came she left the hated castle and joined her men in the camp. They had a meeting about the Freys and it was organised for Arya and the lords bannermen to attend at the other castle and see the Freys being held there. They were gathered into the hall and Arya could see a mix of fear and hatred on their faces as she looked them over. Decisions on what to do with them were delayed when she heard one of the children speak before they could be hushed.

 

“Is that the lady who is going to die?”

 

Arya tried to find out what they meant and nobody would answer her. The Blackfish tried to put it down to Frey treachery and intimidation tactics but Arya was not certain. She left them, seeking Connington in the other castle. He said he would look into it. It did not take long.

 

Arya ate her lunch in the camp in her pavilion. Aegon and some of his men had joined them, wanting to speak with her bannermen. He had been quite composed and relaxed, not showing her any more attention than would be expected. While they were there Arya saw Connington appear alongside Aegon. A piece of parchment was produced and Arya saw Aegon’s expression change to fury as he read it. He leapt to his feet.

 

“She cannot do this!” he shouted.

 

Everybody went quiet and looked at him. He glanced at Arya and frowned.  _Something is wrong_. He stormed out, followed by guards and Connington left when he did.  Aegon was back again in mere seconds. She had never seen him so angry. She wanted to go to him, to see what the problem was. He called to the Blackfish instead.

 

“You need to read this,” he said abruptly.

 

Arya watched as Ser Brynden read and she knew it was something bad. He clenched the parchment in his hand.

 

“It is an order from King’s Landing. Arya Stark is to be stripped of all claims and titles. She has been charged with treason. They want her head. Queen Myrcella demands it.”

 

All eyes turned to Arya. She stood.

 

“If the Lannisters think to scare me they are even stupider than I thought.” She laughed. “They can take my title. I still remain a Stark and no piece of paper will stop me.” She raised her voice louder. “No piece of paper will stop us.”

 

The room erupted into cheers and the men were on their feet. She saw the Blackfish with his head bent, talking the other Northern leaders. More and more gathered around him, nodding and looking rather too happy. Arya had a sinking feeling. They were plotting something and she suspected by the look her uncle was giving her that she wouldn’t like it. She was right.

 

They rose, moving towards her. They had smiles on their faces.

 

“We said once before we would never call a Lannister our King,” Ser Brynden announced loudly. “We are even less inclined to call one our Queen.”

 

The Skagosi leader began to talk in faltering common tongue. “We have woman. We have better woman.”

 

 _Oh no,_  Arya thought.

 

Mors Umber added his voice. “Her brother was King, she has shown herself no less worthy. We don’t need to call her lady, they can take that title.” He grinned. “Let her be Queen instead.”

 

 _No, No, No_.

 

The men all began shouting. They joined together. “Arya Stark, Queen of Winter!”

 

 _I did not want this_  she thought.  _Gods, I did not want this_. The Northmen and her uncle knelt and placed their swords at her feet. Even the recently released prisoners joined in. Arya pictured Cersei’s reaction and had the urge to laugh but it was no laughing matter in truth. The men began shouting again.

 

“The Queen in the North!”

 

Arya looked in Aegon’s direction.  _What have they done_ , she thought, frightened. He didn’t look angry but he disappeared. She was worried it would come to swords when the Targaryen army heard.

 

She tried not to appear worried as the hours wore on. She forced herself to try and be gracious as the Northmen called on her to swear their allegiance. She forced herself to smile and accept them calling her “your grace.”  _It is temporary_  she told herself.  _I am not disinheriting Rickon_. She knew that he would take her place when he came of age but that was little consolation now.

 

She avoided the castle at dinner time, preferring to stay in the camps. She left the pavilion to mingle with her men and when she returned she found the She-Bear waiting for her. She knelt as Arya entered. Duck was with her and he looked self conscious. He muttered “your grace” and took his leave. Arya could barely look at him let alone scold him for the title. She was more distracted by what Lady Maege held in her hands.

 

“The prince had it brought to the tent.”

 

It was a circlet wrought from bronze and silver. It was modest as crowns go and didn’t have a dragon in sight. Arya suddenly realised her mouth was hanging open and she was staring at it. The She-Bear was watching her carefully but she stepped forward and placed it on Arya’s head.

 

“He wants you.”

 

Arya began to shake her head and Lady Maege became impatient.

 

“We are not stupid, Your Grace. He would not have given in so easily if it was not true.”

 

Arya touched the circlet.  _I did not want this._

 

“I will return it,” she said quickly.

 

“That would be a mistake, Your Grace.”

 

Arya was confused. Lady Maege smiled. She pointed at the crown.

 

“That is not just a crown,” she said. “That is the future Iron Throne giving us independence.”

 

Arya sat heavily, feeling even more burdened. She did not want to be a lady. She wanted to be Queen even less.

  

 


	49. Chapter 49: Aegon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those on tumblr, I like this picture of Arya and Aegon. Whoever drew it has a talent. http://blackedeyedbandit.tumblr.com/image/36267388105

**Chapter 49: Aegon**

Aegon could not sleep. He kept remembering the order from King’s Landing and all that had unfolded after he read it. He was sure that Arya could defend herself, he knew she could defend herself but he also knew the order must have been sent out over all of Westeros. There were still people who would try to turn Arya in. She had laughed about the order but all Aegon could feel was anger. They had taken his mother and sister, his father had been killed and now they wanted to take Arya too. 

 

_We are both hunted now._

 

He had not seen another assassin but he knew that did not mean they had stopped trying. Sometimes he thought he was being watched but the feeling passed. He was trying not to get complacent though it was difficult, especially with the distractions he faced. He could still hear the Northmen proclaiming her queen. He could still see her face. She had been quick to cover it but he had seen her fear and he had seen that she was not happy. He could still remember what she had told him when he had asked her again to marry him.  _I definitely can’t be queen._  He had been frustrated by her stubbornness but seeing her reaction to her own men making her queen had helped him see it was about far more than not wanting to marry.

 

There had been an uproar when Aegon had left the camp of the Northern army and returned to the castle. The news had spread fast. Connington was wroth though the bannermen and leaders of the Golden Company were even angrier. All they could see was the loss of half of Westeros. They had gathered in the hall and the discussion had become heated. Aegon was not happy himself but Connington had talked about the North’s desire for independence enough that he could still think rationally.

 

“We will not dispute it,” he announced.

 

They had looked at him as though he was mad. Connington was sitting beside him. He had gripped his arm fiercely and whispered harshly in his ear.

 

“Stop thinking with your cock Aegon.”

 

He couldn’t stop himself from flushing red. “I’m not,” he had snapped back, trying to keep his voice low. “You will not speak to me in that way my lord.”

 

He had then addressed the rest of the men. “The North did not promise fealty,” he argued. “They have not breached the terms of the alliance. If we try to resist this we will lose the North and any chance of the Riverlands too. We need them if I am to sit the Iron Throne. I do not have dragons. I cannot truly unite the kingdoms without this alliance.”

 

He had allowed them to continue arguing amongst themselves. Some of them favoured marching into the Northern camps. He was grateful when Connington intervened to tell them the stupidity of that plan.

 

“That is a sure way to lose all support, not just the North but the other kingdoms too. We will be as popular as the Freys if you give in to that folly.”

 

It had taken time but they did eventually calm down. They were not happy but they no longer wanted to spill blood, not openly anyway. Aegon had left and returned to his quarters. Connington had caught him giving the crown to Duck to take to the Northern camps. He had given Aegon the coldest look and had joined him in the solar, shutting the door for privacy as Duck left to follow the instructions Aegon had given him.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Aegon set his jaw. “I’m trying to help her. If you had seen her,” he paused. “She does not want this.”

 

Connington sighed. “There is no point in my trying to change your mind.”

 

Aegon shook his head. “I have not forgotten her telling me of Torrhen Stark.”

 

He saw understanding cross Connington’s features. “You think this is temporary.”

 

“I do my lord,” Aegon confirmed. “The North will not kneel without dragons. Arya said as much.” He paused. “The North needs this. I will take the throne and once the dragons arrive the North will kneel.” He left the rest unspoken.  _If we wed the North will kneel._ He knew that he must pursue Daenerys but he had not given up on Arya. He was not sure he ever could.

Connington had looked thoughtful. “You still should not have given the crown, Your Grace.”

 

He had turned on his heel and left.

It had become late by then and Aegon had retired for the night, telling his guards not to disturb him. Now despite his fatigue he could not rest. He had too many thoughts keeping him awake.

 

Lord Connington had told him quite often after he had returned from the North that he was being foolish about Arya. He could still remember her saying  _he_  pursued  _her_. He had planned to do things differently now. He was not going to chase her. The night before  _she_  had come to  _him_. She had been different. He had not had to prompt her. She had desired him and she had been wet for him without him even having to try. He could still hear her.

 

_I want you Aegon_

 

She had never fought him when he had gone to her before but it had always been him prompting. He had always had to coax her. She had not needed much, Arya knew her mind but it was always there and before last night he had started to have doubts. He had started to wonder if he had been a fool and if he had dreamed that she truly wanted him as more than a friend. Now he had no doubts. He had seen her desire and he had also seen her hesitation before she refused to marry him.

He did eventually drift off with thoughts of death and crowns and Arya going around and around in his head. When he woke he found Arya in his chambers. He was not surprised though he wondered if he should be worried that she had gotten in so easily. Her usual guarded expression was gone. She looked troubled. She had clearly been unable to sleep though unlike him she was still dressed. The circlet he had left for her was held lightly in her hands. She looked as though she thought it might bite her.

 

“I’m not here to fuck you,” she said quickly.

 

He smiled at her. “I did not need you to tell me that. What happened to my guards?”

 

She pulled a face. “They are stupid. You need to get better ones.”

 

Aegon had to suppress the urge to laugh. It wasn’t funny in truth and she didn’t look to be in a laughing mood. He watched her set the crown down. She frowned.

 

“I did not want this.”

 

Aegon sighed. “I know.”

 

She bit her lip. “I cannot keep it. They think you gave it to me because you  _want_  me.”

 

This time he couldn’t hold back his laughter even though it caused her to scowl at him.

 

“What?” she growled.

 

“Arya,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “Almost every man here  _wants_  you.”

 

The look of utter surprise on her face made him laugh again even though it resulted in her hitting him.

 

“Stop it,” she protested.

 

“Alright, alright,” he said, trying to be serious. “It is true though.” Her brow was furrowed.

 

“They don’t know about us.” She looked at the circlet again. “They told me to keep it but I still don’t think I can.”

 

“Yes you can,” he said firmly. “If it makes you feel better think of it as a name day gift.”

 

Her eyes widened and she sat lightly on the side of the bed. “You remembered?” She looked pleased, even though she did not look any fonder of the crown. “It was so long ago.”

 

“Of course I remembered,” he shot back. “I might have sent you a gift but you would have told me I was stupid.”

 

She fingered the crown, her brow furrowed. “You _are_ stupid,” she whispered.

 

“Do you not like it?” he asked uncertainly.

 

It had been made for her but he did not dare tell her that. That would certainly prompt her to return it. It had not been his idea. One of the blacksmiths had been listening to too many rumours about Aegon’s marriage and thought he would earn favour by designing it with Arya in mind. Aegon hadn’t been able to part with it even though he had started to become certain he would never have her wear it. The North declaring her queen had changed that.

 

“It isn’t that,” she said quickly. “I just don’t think I can do it.”

 

Her eyes were downcast. She looked as vulnerable as Aegon had ever seen her. He decided to risk her anger by picking up the circlet and putting it gently on her head before grasping her hand.

 

“You are capable of much more than you think Arya. You can do this.”

 

She looked at him reproachfully but she didn’t wrench it off her head straight away. She also didn’t pull her fingers from his.

 

“I said I couldn’t be queen,” she said bitterly. “I’m not made for it. I’m not like Sansa.”

 

Aegon wanted to shake her.

 

“They don’t  _want_  a courteous little lady,” he said, trying to keep his temper. “They are not  _looking_  for somebody who will wear gowns and jewels and sit in a castle holding court. They need a warrior. They need  _you_.”

 

“You’re crushing my fingers,” she warned him.

 

He quickly loosened his grip, feeling guilty but he wanted to make his point. “You don’t have to change Arya. They chose you as you are. You just need to keep being you. The only change is,” he reached up and adjusted the circlet “you will have to wear one of these on occasion.”

 

She looked right at him and he was bothered that he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She reached up and removed the crown. He had a sinking feeling until she moved quicker than he had expected and before he knew it she had straddled him. She leaned down over him, her dark grey eyes full of promise. Her dark hair hung forward, framing her face.

 

“I wanted to hate you for giving it to me. Why can’t you let me hate you?”

 

She didn’t give him a chance to answer. Her mouth enveloped his and he fought to stifle a groan as she ground her hips against him. She suddenly pulled away. He watched as she ripped her coat and tunic off, carefully putting aside her knife and dagger.

 

“I thought you weren’t going to fuck me?” he teased.

 

She scowled and he quickly reached for her before she changed her mind, pulling her into another kiss. He traced the curve of her spine before quickly undoing the bindings at her chest. As they fell away she pulled back to look at him, her hands cupping his face.

 

“You really think I can do this?”

 

He was tempted to jape with her. To pretend she was talking about bedding him and not wearing the crown she had not asked for but he could see she was serious.

 

“I really do,” he replied “though you are better not asking me questions while you’re half undressed. It makes it hard to think.”

 

She smiled and lowered her head to nip at his neck and he took it as a sign. He savoured the way her breath hitched as he cupped her breasts. She held him to her as he pulled one into his mouth, cradling his head and knotting her fingers in his hair. Her breathing became more erratic and he heard her curse as his teeth scraped against her nipple and he teased her with his tongue. When she arched her back and moaned he let his hands wander lower, feeling down across her stomach, hooking his fingers inside the waist of her pants and edging them just past her smallclothes.

 

“Wait,” she said softly.

 

She wriggled out of her remaining clothes with ease. He swallowed hard as her fingers worked quickly to ease the furs back that were covering him up to his waist, the only barrier between them. He couldn’t stifle the groan this time as her fingers ran along the length of his cock and she leaned down, her hair brushing against him as she pressed a kiss to his neck. His hands moved to her hips and she lifted her head and looked into his face.

 

“I’m not what you think I am. You shouldn’t want me.”

 

“Arya,” he breathed. “You can’t tell me what I should want, especially now.”

 

She didn’t argue with him and he sighed as she guided him inside her. He watched her, mesmerised as she rose and fell on top of him. Her skin was flushed and her lips parted. Arya began to moan softly and she no longer wore the tormented expression she had when she first came to his room.

 

“I only want you,” he murmured as he listened to her and focused on the way it felt being in her. _I cannot imagine wanting anybody else._ He remembered what Connington had said. It was not true, not with Arya.  _Something that feels this good cannot be dishonour._ Her hands rested on his chest for balance and he ran his fingers gently up her body and down her arms until she took his hands in hers. He pulled her close to him, his lips seeking hers again before she threw her head back and cried out her pleasure.

 

She allowed him to roll on top of her, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. She looked into his eyes as he began to thrust into her and it was an effort to keep his pace steady as she writhed beneath him. It was not long before she was urging him on. He felt her nails digging into his back just before he came with a moan and her name on his lips.

 

He nuzzled her neck as he tried to catch his breath. He wanted to breathe in her scent. She always smelled almost earthy. Her caresses became more gentle, her fingers stroking his back and he was startled when he realised his back was stinging a little.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I made you bleed.”

 

His eyes met hers and he grinned widely. “It was worth it.”

 

She hit him lightly in the chest. “Don’t be stupid.”

 

He was surprised when she didn’t try to leave straight away. She let him put his arm around her and pull the furs over both of them. He didn’t want to ruin things but he had to ask the question.

 

“Won’t they look for you?”

 

Arya sighed. “They will think I am visiting the Freys. We spoke about them before I tried to get some sleep.” There was a moment of silence before she spoke again.

 

“Will anybody come in here?”

 

“I asked not to be disturbed,” he said quickly.

 

Her voice was small when she spoke again. “I know I shouldn’t ask but can I stay a little while? I always sleep better right after you’ve fucked me.”

 

He wanted to laugh over the bluntness of her request. He couldn’t say no to her. He brushed his lips against the top of her head and held her close. He heard the familiar whispers just as he was drifting off. “ _Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei, the Freys. Valar Morghulis.”_

 

_One day I will ask her about it._

 

She was gone when he woke again. He had slept late and he saw the maid smirk when she came to his room. It took him a moment to realise why and then he flushed, remembering Arya had scratched him. He knew that it would be assumed he was whoring and it bothered him.

 

The day had come for the Freys to face judgement. Although the North was going to dispense the judgement, Aegon was to witness it and Duck was by his side. Connington was also in the hall along with other leading men from their host. He was curious to see that the singer had joined them. He saw Arya stare at the singer when he entered. The man grinned at her and took a knee. She did not smile back and there was something hard in her tone when she bade for him to rise. Aegon did not dwell on it, his focus soon shifted to what they were there for.

 

He had seen that his words had some impact on Arya. She was wearing the crown and although he knew she could not possibly be comfortable wearing it after what she had told him she was putting on a good pretence. She had also dressed for war, donning a shirt of ringmail over her boiled leather. She did not look to be armed though Aegon knew that meant nothing. She always had at least two concealed blades.

 

Arya had taken the black oak seat of the Lord of the Crossing. Her slender form looked rather lost in the massive seat. He could see that Nymeria was close by her as was her uncle Brynden Tully and the Lady of Bear Island. Aegon knew well that Arya had no need of bodyguards yet the two of them looked to be attempting to shield her nonetheless.

 

He scanned the hall looking out at the Freys gathered. He could see fear on many faces but he could also see resentment, hatred and on some, mere curiosity. His study was interrupted when Arya spoke.

 

“The children should not be here.”

 

The man known as the Greatjon answered her.

 

“Not all children are innocent, Your Grace.”

 

His proclamation was met with murmurs of agreement. Aegon heard mutters of “Freys” and “born treacherous.” He began to worry of what exactly this justice was going to involve. He was relieved when Arya shook her head vigorously. The crown slipped a little and she pushed it back into place.

 

“If any have a part of the guilt they will face punishment but young children should not be here.”

 

Aegon saw some Northmen rise and promptly begin herding the children out of the hall. Many of the small ones did not want to leave and had to be urged to go. Some of the Freys did not want the children sent out.

 

“Let them bear witness that the wolves are beasts,” one man called out.

 

Arya rose to her feet in response. Her voice rang out clearly and he could hear the anger and pain in her tone.

 

“My mother and brother were murdered in this very hall at my uncle’s wedding. They were guests and they were unarmed. Thousands of my brother’s men were murdered. The beasts are those who planned and committed those murders.” She paused briefly amidst loud exclamations of support from her men and when she spoke again she was calmer. “Keeping children as witnesses will not change your fate but if you insist on them staying they will witness the truth of your crimes and the justice of your sentences.” She sat again.

 

Aegon looked around at those watching. Almost all of them had their gaze fixed on Arya. Those from his host were looking at her with interest and unveiled curiosity. Lord Connington was looking between the Freys and Arya with a cool gaze, appearing unmoved and taking everything in. Duck was calmer than most, he had a look of grim acceptance and Aegon realised that Northern justice was not new to him. He had been at Winterfell and the Dreadfort.

 

Arya’s voice rang out again. “Alesander Frey.”

 

The Frey in question rose to his feet. He looked anxious as he stepped forward. Aegon tried to read Arya’s expression but she was revealing nothing. Alesander took a knee to the displeasure of many of his relatives.

 

“You may rise,” Arya said softly. “Go with an escort to the other castle. You will be our guest and no harm will come to you.”

 

There were surprised murmurs from both the benches where the Freys sat and the witnesses from Aegon’s host. Alesander Frey murmured a “Thankyou your grace,” and fled, still looking a little anxious. Arya did not watch him leave, Aegon could see her looking along the benches again.

 

“Perwyn Frey,” she called out.

 

The man who must have been Perwyn Frey scampered forward, quick to follow Alesander’s lead by taking a knee. Relief was etched in his features.

 

“I know you also did not take part,” Arya said. “You served my mother and brother well. You have my promise that no harm will come to you from my command. You may join Alesander.”

 

Perwyn left rather quickly and Aegon looked to see who would be next.

 

“Olyvar Frey.”

 

A young man stepped forward. He knelt with his head bent and grief clouded his features.

 

“I am sorry about your mother and brother, Your Grace,” he said. ”I did not know what was planned.”

 

Aegon looked to Arya and saw her expression soften.

 

“I know. I have heard my brother was fond of you and that you were very loyal. I would like you to join Perwyn and Alesander.”

 

Olyvar left and when he left any vulnerability in Arya left with him. Her face became stony. The interrogations began in earnest. The room began to be separated. Accusations were flung around the room with Frey accusing Frey. Guilt was established for first one, then two, soon half a dozen. Aegon had known Arya could pick liars but he had never seen it put into practice like this. Her interrogations made  _him_  feel nervous and he had played no part.

 

The North did not care if the guilty were men or women. Both were grouped together. Once the guilty numbered a score, the announcement was made that sentencing would begin. Aegon started when Duck leaned close to him.

 

“Are you sure you want to stay for this, Your Grace? It will be difficult to watch.”

 

He dismissed the question but he was not prepared when he saw Arya rise, remove the crown and walk lightly down from her seat, accepting a sword on her way. He recognised it instantly as the sword forged from her father’s sword. Nymeria followed at her heels as did her protectors. The guilty Freys were taken outside while the rest remained guarded. The Northmen and witnesses from Aegon’s company followed. When they reached the yards Aegon saw a block had been set up.

 

He had killed men in battle. He knew that Arya had killed men but this was different. Some cursed her as she sentenced them to die, other pleaded but it did not matter what they said. Their end was the same. Duck had been right, it was difficult to watch and he found himself turning away more than once. He knew their crimes, he knew the sentence was just but the woman wielding the sword did not seem the Arya he knew. This woman seemed cold, unmoved, indifferent.

 

He looked at Lord Connington and the expression he saw there surprised him. It was approval. It was something Aegon had rarely seen from him. He caught Aegon’s eye briefly but he did not speak. Aegon saw that the other men watching looked fascinated, particularly the sellswords. The Northmen were assisting Arya, she was carrying out the sentence but they were methodical in bringing each person to her for her to carry it out. They looked grim.

 

Aegon did not want to stay after the sentencing was finished. He did not want to see the remaining Freys being questioned and sentenced. He began to leave but Connington must have seen him and he came after him.

 

“You must stay Your Grace.”

 

Aegon faltered. “She has no mercy,” he said quietly.

 

Connington looked irritated. “They cannot be spared. You know what they did. If you wish to rule this is something you will need to learn. Not every foe is going to come at you with a weapon and not all justice is easy.”

 

Aegon shook his head. “It didn’t have to be her.”

 

Duck interjected. “Aye, it did, Your Grace. They do things differently in the North,” he explained. “The little lady told me it is the old way. They do not use executioners. She told me her father taught them. The person who passes the sentence should swing the sword. They believe that if you can’t look into a man’s eyes and hear his last words then mayhaps he doesn’t deserve to die.”

 

Aegon pressed his lips together. “She looked so cold.”

 

Connington almost looked like he was trying to hold back a smile. “Take a moment if you must but you will need to return to the hall.”

 

When he was gone Aegon was aware that Duck was silent but he clearly had something to say. Aegon prompted him.

 

“She’s not cold,” Duck argued. “You know that. She will be miserable when it’s over. I was there after the sentencing in Winterfell and the Dreadfort. The little lady takes no joy from it. I remember she looked as sad as I’ve seen her on the first night in Winterfell.”

 

Aegon sighed. He returned to the hall and made himself watch the rest of the questioning. He also made sure he did not look away during what was left of the sentencing but he was glad when it was over and he could return to his quarters.

 

He did not look for her and she did not come to the hall. It was not until the following day when he met with some of the Northern Lords that he saw her again. Preparations were being made to leave a mix of Northmen and Aegon’s men behind to take charge of the Crossing. Aegon had begun talking with Ser Brynden Tully in Arya’s pavilion when he saw her emerge with parchment clutched in her hand. Her dark grey eyes met his and he saw her stiffen. The Blackfish did not seem to notice.

 

“Uncle I am going to find the maester,” she said. “My letters are late and Rickon will have started worrying.”

 

“Go child,” Ser Brynden urged with a smile. “We can’t afford to have your brother getting anxious. He may try and rescue you all on his own.”

 

She darted from the tent and the Blackfish seemed to remember Aegon’s presence. His tone returned to something more brusque as they returned to discussing the Riverlands. She returned just before they finished and sat staring into a cup of wine. As their discussion ended the Blackfish left them but not before shooting him a warning look. He was surprised they were left alone. He expected it would not be for long. Arya broke the silence first. Her tone sounded brittle.

 

“You are looking at me differently since the sentencing.”

 

Aegon did not deny it. “It was not what I expected. You were not what I expected.”

 

She stiffened again. “Duck told me what you said about me.”

 

Aegon could not look at her. She moved so quietly that she was standing before him almost before he realised she had moved. She rested her hand on his arm hesitantly.

 

“I am still the same person Aegon. From the time you found out my name I have not lied to you about who I am.”

 

He looked down at her hand and she removed it. “It was just different seeing it,” he said quickly.

 

“What would you do if it was the people who hurt your family?” she said defensively. “It is justice. It is how we do things.”

 

“I know,” he said softly.

 

She turned away from him. “This is why I tried to warn you. You should have listened to me back at Storm’s End the first time I told you I was not right for you.” She sat back down and stared at the wine again.

 

“Arya,” he began hesitantly.

 

“You can go,” she said abruptly.

 

He paused at the entrance of the pavilion looking at her but she would not meet his gaze.  _Duck was right_  he realised.  _She is miserable_.

“You were wrong,” he said quietly before he took his leave.

 


	50. Chapter 50: Daenerys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had to make a ton of assumptions for this one. I have assumed the dragon horn binds one dragon. I have assumed Dany can use it and I don’t think that is too much of a stretch. It burnt that guy when he blew it but I've made it that Dany does not burn (not with the horn, anyway).

Chapter 50: Daenerys

****

Dany stood upon the deck of the ship, watching her dragons closely. She was finally on her way to the place Viserys had called their home, finally on her way back to Westeros. The going was slow. They had little wind, what wind they did get tried to blow them off course and they had failed to cover much distance thus far. The dragons were impatient, flying ahead though their larger size made them easier to see now even from a distance. It made Dany nervous. She had managed to bind Drogon to her with the Dragon horn but Viserion and Rhaegal had become wilder in her absence from Meereen.

She still felt ill about how she was leaving the city. She had lost her way there, she knew that but she also knew that even after the battle for Meereen had been won, in leaving the city she doomed the people to a similar fate to Astapor. The city was not what it once had been. The dragons had laid waste to great parts of it during the battle. Dany’s supporters had won but it had come with a cost.

_ I was not meant to be Queen of Meereen. I was meant to rule the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. _

__

She was not wanted in Meereen. She was meant for more than that. Her return to Vaes Dothrak had shown that. She had met with the Dosh Khaleen. They had knelt before her. She had united the Khalasar and now the Dothraki were going to help her take what was hers, even though they did hate _the poison water_.

A light breeze blew and she became aware of Ser Barristan Selmy’s long white cloak lifting and fluttering with it. The knight was almost silent, his presence as unobtrusive as ever. She could see slight pity in his expression though she could also see he was trying to hide it.

_ He knows I mourn Daario _ .

“Moqorro says a sacrifice will give us the wind we need to get us more quickly to Westeros.”

Ser Barristan’s expression quickly changed. Pity disappeared and disapproval replaced it.

“I will not do it,” she hastened to add.

She saw relief flood his face. Dany did not quite know what to do about the red priest. She had a strange mix in her entourage now. Aside from Moqorro, there was Archmaester Marwyn who she was told did not really did not look like a maester at all. There was the Ironborn and then there were the dwarfs. Alongside that her Bear had returned.

Moqorro and the Mage did not get along. Victarion Greyjoy and Tyrion Lannister did not get along. Victarion also harboured ill will towards Moqorro over some broken promise made to do with the dragon horn. Dany was sure at some point blood was going to be shed. The crawling pace they were making was not helping matters. Tensions were rising and Dany felt her own sense of urgency to get to Westeros, not just because she felt dry land might help in keeping the peace but also because of the tidings she had heard of Westeros.

“It cannot be him,” she said resolutely.

Ser Barristan looked strained. He did not ask what she meant. This was not the first time they had this conversation.

“You still doubt?”

Ser Barristan sighed. “I did not see the body myself, Your Grace. Those who did could not look at it.”

Dany knew why he looked strained. _If it truly is Aegon, he is meant to be by his side not mine._ They had heard little of the young man claiming to be Aegon Targaryen. Dany only knew that he had landed in Westeros and had begun the fight to claim the throne. Meereen was so far from Westeros though and news was old by the time they received it.

A deep frown crossed the knight’s face and Dany heard footsteps. She did not need to guess who had joined them. She turned and saw Tyrion Lannister waddling along the deck, yawning widely before tilting his head as he looked at them with mismatched eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Have I interrupted?”

“Not at all,” Dany said sweetly.

Tyrion was far too clever. Dany always felt as though he was keeping things from her but her experience with the Harpy in Meereen had taught her that she needed somebody like him. It had taken her a while though to relent and she still did not trust him. The lack of trust had not been helped when he had been late to reveal that he had already met the supposed prince.

_ He is the son of one of the Usurper’s dogs. _ Many had questioned her sanity when she did not have him killed on the spot, especially after he openly admitted to killing his own father and his nephew, the usurper Joffrey Baratheon. Ser Barristan deeply disapproved of Tyrion’s presence and Victarion Greyjoy loathed him. Then again, Victarion Greyjoy liked few people.

She had managed to evade a marriage with the man. After her ill-fated marriage to Hizdahr she was not in a hurry to marry again. She would not marry again until she took her throne no matter how many suitors pursued her and she hoped to use that to delay them. She remembered Tyrion’s description of this Aegon.

_ Bright, comely and rather keen to take his Auntie as his bride _

__

It was quite possible that if the rebellion had not happened that she might have married Aegon. They were close in age and it was Targaryen tradition. She was confused though. She remembered what Quaithe had told her.

_ Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal. _

The Kraken was Victarion, dark flame was Moqorro, the Lion was Tyrion. Lord Connington was the Griffin, Tyrion had told her he was with this Aegon. She could only assume he was the mummer’s dragon but she did not know what that truly meant. The sun’s son was Quentyn Martell and he had died without doing anything to betray her. If anything she was grateful to him. He had set Viserion and Rhaegal free. If he had not acted, Hizdahr might have succeeded in having them killed. If she was to listen to Quaithe, she was to trust none of these people. It made her head hurt trying to guess how each might turn on her or whether they were even untrustworthy at all.

They had set a course to sail from Meereen to the West coast of Westeros. It was a course none of them were familiar with but it would allow them to take the Lannisters and their supporters by surprise by coming on Westeros from the East. They had a large fleet of ships, comprising the Iron fleet and the ships taken from those supporting the Yunkai and the Volantene fleet who arrived after them. The journey would be long and they needed wind.

If it truly was her brother’s son in Westeros, and she intended to determine if it was, she would join him, see what kind of man he was and unite with him if he did not prove false. It would be so sweet to know she was not alone, that she was not the last Targaryen and she had not forgotten the prophecy. _The dragon must have three heads._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so I know I have been vague on heaps of stuff but I chose to steer the safest course. I think it most likely Daario died or switched sides so even though it was tempting to keep him alive I have killed him. I have kept everybody else alive who I think should be. As mentioned earlier (at least I think I mentioned it), this is a bridging chapter of sorts. I will fill in more detail in future chapters.  
> We all know that for this story I’m assuming Aegon is the real deal. I’m not stupid, I know he is a fake. Because I’ve made him real in this, I will be interpreting mummer’s dragon as a puppet of sorts though my Aegon has somewhat broken through that I think. I think Quaithe was working on info at a certain point in time and stuff changed after her message.


	51. Chapter 51

Chapter 51

Arya had not been certain of the next move after they had left Moat Cailin to march to the Twins. She had been too intent on making sure the Freys faced Northern justice, too intent on making sure that none who were involved in the Red Wedding escaped. The release of the prisoners from the wedding guided the next decision. Brynden Blackfish advised her that those from the Riverlands must be allowed to return to their Houses.

 

She knew it was also about more than that. Arya knew her uncle had been speaking with Aegon. He came away from each conversation in better spirits, even to the point where Arya had heard him laughing with the Prince. Her uncle wanted the Riverlands reclaimed from the Lannisters. The Western army may have retreated but they still had a hold. Aegon had clearly charmed her uncle and his army combined with the North would do the rest.

 

_These are the allies the North needs, even if we were not seeking vengeance._

 

The Freys who had been spared would remain at the Twins under close watch. Arya suspected it would not long remain the seat of House Frey but nobody had the desire for the Freys to join them on the march. There was nowhere else to put them so they had to be left.

 

Arya’s head was filled with unpleasant thoughts following the sentencing. It may have been years but she had recognised Tom immediately. It helped that he had greeted her as though he knew her and he still carried his woodharp with him. She had to try and put him out of her mind while she dealt with the Freys. Once she finished with them she had not wanted to speak with anybody. She had retreated to her pavilion. She did not get to speak with Tom until the following day.

 

He had found his way into the camp of the Northern army. Arya heard him playing on his woodharp. He took a knee when he saw her and she could not tell whether he was mocking her or not. She managed to pull him aside by making japes with the men over whether or not the singer could play the songs she knew. The men japed back that even  _she_  should not know the songs she knew. As soon as they were alone she dropped all pretence at japing.

 

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

 

Tom chuckled. “So the little queen does know me after all?”

 

Arya scowled. “Tell me.”

 

He plucked a string on the harp. “Mayhaps I was looking for some inspiration for a song. Mayhaps I’ll write one about the dragon prince and his fondness for the wolf queen.”

 

Arya kept her face still. “Mayhaps I’ll slit your throat and you won’t get to make up any more songs.”

 

Tom put on a mock wounded expression. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?” He chuckled again. “There was a time I would not have thought you capable.” He eyed her dagger. “While you were dead it seems you learned some things.”

 

Arya huffed impatiently. “I was not dead and you still have not answered me.”

 

Tom became more serious. “I would have thought it obvious. I came to see some Freys die.”

 

Arya relaxed a little. “I heard the brotherhood was killing Freys.”

 

“We are,” Tom confirmed. “We looked for you.”

 

Arya sighed. “I thought you might.” Her eyes narrowed. “You were never going to get your ransom.”

 

“That don’t matter now,” Tom replied.

 

Arya had so many thoughts going through her head. There were questions she wanted to ask but she couldn’t without revealing weakness and Arya would not have him see her as weak. She suddenly realised he was studying her.

 

“You still don’t dress like a girl.”

 

“I wear what I want,” Arya retorted. “Nobody can make me wear gowns now.”

 

“Ah but they do make you wear the crown, Your Grace”

 

Arya touched the circlet, feeling self conscious. She changed the subject, trying to pick her words carefully. “You weren’t just killing Freys. What do you want with Aegon and his men?”

 

Tom plucked a couple more notes. “A singer has to make a living. The prince likes my singing.”

 

Arya scowled again. “He trusts too easily.”

 

“He does,” Tom said calmly. “He sings rather well himself. Has he sung for you?”

 

Arya refused to let him bait her. “Songs are stupid.”

 

Tom laughed. “So you haven’t let anybody sing you out of your smallclothes yet? By the sounds of it plenty would like to.”

 

Arya gave him a cold stare. Aegon had said something similar. She had not believed him but she was now finding it to be true. She gave up on questioning Tom. He was not going to tell her anything, not now anyway.

 

Aegon had become distant after the sentencing. He still avoided her. It confirmed something which had worried her from the start. There was a reason she did not tell people about the House of Black and White apart from her worry about telling their secrets. She had made sure not to tell Jon and Rickon. Aegon only knew because she had no choice but to tell him given how they had met. 

 

 _Nobody could want me knowing what I have done_.

 

Aegon was not supposed to want her. He was not supposed to love her. Every time he said it she wanted to tell him to stop. He was meant for Daenerys, not her but he would not hear it. The sentencing changed things. She had seen how he looked at her after the Blackfish left them alone together.  _He does not want me anymore._  He had still tried to protest just before he left but she could see things had changed.

 

The effect on others, however, was the opposite. Arya could not go near the castle or anywhere where Aegon’s men were present without being looked at with something more than intense interest. The sellswords were the worst. It had not bothered them seeing her kill. If anything it seemed to attract them. She heard her uncle and the Glovers trying to turn them away from her pavilion. She tried to be courteous to those who managed to get inside so as not to make enemies though she usually ended up becoming blunt. Fortunately Nymeria was enough to put them off. She had always bared her fangs at anybody who showed too much interest apart from Aegon.

 

Arya could not wait to leave the Twins. She joined in the final war councils before leaving. She was given equal involvement in the planning of the march. Connington in particular conferred with her which made her feel grateful because his confidence brushed off on others. They were to find their way to the Kingsroad to minimise the number of river crossings needed and to speed their journey. The Blackfish had already advised her of the options, nothing discussed in the meeting was really new.

 

The march felt different this time. It was strange being part of a host made up of two armies. There had been a heated discussion as to who would march where in the column. In the end, despite Arya’s initial protests to her advisors, it was decided that she should be in the centre just as Aegon was. She knew it made sense, the leader had to be protected even though she felt she could look after herself. The rest of her bannermen took their similar positions to the usual formation only interspersed amongst Aegon’s forces.

 

Arya rode with her personal guard so did not have too much contact with Aegon. When they did get close she tried not to look at him, instead focusing on her companions. Olyvar Frey had pleaded to prove himself so despite others doubting him, Arya had allowed him to ride with her. The She-Bear also stayed close, as did the Skagosi. Asha Greyjoy had also begun to stick close by. Duck had rejoined Aegon but when he could he spoke with her still, veering off from the rest of Aegon’s guard whenever he was given leave to jape with her and talk of shared experiences.

 

They endured snowfall when they first set out but made good progress once they reached the Kingsroad. Arya felt stifled in the large host. She had little enough freedom to move in the Northern army, it was worse now that she was trapped between two armies. She still insisted on flouting the rules sometimes to ride ahead, her guards desperately trying to keep up with her. She liked to feel the wind on her face and blowing through her hair. Her uncle would lecture her when they made camp for the night. He was in charge of the outriders but he always heard about her antics. Aegon passed the entrance to the pavilion once in the middle of one of these lectures and although there was distance between them still she could see amusement glinting in his violet eyes. She began to smile and saw his lips begin to curve too then he abruptly disappeared from view.

 

They had just passed the Ruby Ford before she had any real contact with him. The Blackfish, the Northmen and the freed prisoners from the wedding became more jovial as they neared the Riverlands. Talk of the outlaws had increased and Arya shared knowing looks with Tom when he ventured into the camp to sing. Aegon for once was not in high spirits. Even with the limited contact Arya was having with him it had been impossible to miss the strain in his face as they passed the location where his father had been killed. If things had not changed between them, Arya would have gone to him. Instead she stayed close to her own men, thinking of all those who had been lost.

 

She was sitting in her pavilion with a cup of their now very scarce wine when she heard a scuffle at the entrance. She assumed Nymeria was hunting but as the flap of the tent was wrenched back and Aegon entered the direwolf was by his side. She knew the moment she looked at his face that something was wrong.

 

“Why are you here?” she asked.

 

He flinched and she hated herself for how blunt she sounded. It did not deter him though. He remained standing in front of her, his fists clenched and grief in his features.

 

“I have been told somebody tried to kill you in Winterfell.”

 

Arya kept her face neutral, cursing inwardly. It had been too much to hope for that he would not find out.

 

“Why did you not tell me?” he demanded.

 

_Because I knew you would take it badly._

 

“It does not concern you,” she said abruptly.

 

He ripped his fingers through his hair. It was a gesture she knew well. He was struggling to keep his temper in check.

 

“Damn it Arya, I had a right to know.”

 

She bit her lip then quickly stopped. “No you did not.” She picked up the cup and looked into it so that she wouldn’t have to look at him.

 

“Arya!”

 

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, looking up at him.

 

He was pacing and muttering. She heard him listing those he had lost and cracking his knuckles. He stopped still and she saw that his eyes had a wild look in them. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the table.

 

“How can you say that to me? How could you keep this from me? You could have died!”

 

“Valar Morg-“

 

Before she could finish he snatched the cup from her hand and hurled it against the wall of the tent.

 

“No,” he shouted, looking anguished. “You don’t get to say that, not about this and not here.”

 

Arya leapt to her feet. She was not afraid of him. She knew he would not hurt her but he was going to bring her men running. She stepped around the table and put her hands on his shoulders. He was shaking.

 

“Calm down Aegon.”

 

He shook his head. “I want him dead,” he spat.

 

Arya was confused for a moment.  _He means the boy._

 

“He took the black.”

 

“I want him dead,” Aegon said more forcefully. He grabbed hold of her waist and rested his forehead against hers. “You did not spare the Freys, I do not understand.”

 

“They did not ask to take the black,” she whispered.

 

Aegon shook his head again. “If I had been there I would have killed him.” He gripped her more tightly and kissed her with a passion that was almost violent. Arya almost pushed him away, almost. She was used to men trying to treat her roughly but not Aegon. He must have sensed her resistance because his grip loosened. He touched her face gently and brushed his lips against hers tenderly, prompting her to try and seek more before he abruptly broke the kiss and rested his head against her neck. She felt him sob and put her arms around him, rubbing his back.

 

“You would have spared him too,” she whispered. “You have more mercy than I have.”

 

He shook his head yet again. “I should not have said you were cold,” he said hoarsely.

 

He buried his face in her hair and Arya held him. She heard him plead with her not to send him away and she didn’t answer. His breathing had calmed but he was still trembling.

 

“I know it must be hard for you here,” she said softly.

 

His voice was muffled by her hair when he responded. “Some speak of it as though it is nothing, merely a curiosity that this is where he died.”

 

She held him a little longer before she heard the rustle of the tent flap and they quickly separated. Arya dropped into her seat again, quickly trying to tidy her hair and hoping her lips didn’t look too bruised. She schooled her face but she saw that Aegon still looked flustered as her uncle appeared before them. He looked at Aegon then his eyes went to the spilled wine and the cup on the ground.

 

“The men heard shouting.”

 

“I apologise,” Arya said quickly, relieved her voice sounded calm. “I lost my temper and threw my wine cup. Prince Aegon was scolding me for it.”

 

Her uncle looked at her suspiciously. Aegon looked both grateful and guilty.  _It is a good thing I have learned to lie well_.

 

“You should not waste good wine Arya,” he finally said in a teasing tone, a smile crinkling the corners of his Tully blue eyes. “We have little enough of it.”

 

“I should go,” Aegon said quickly, inclining his head respectfully as he fled.

 

The Blackfish watched him go then turned to her, looking shrewd. “I feel sorry for him.”

 

Arya tensed. “Do you?”

 

He laughed. “Don’t treat me as though I’m stupid. I know what he wants and throwing wine at him is a poor response.”

 

Arya tried not to let her confusion show.

 

“He wants your hand,” Ser Brynden said. “As I say I’m not stupid. No prince would just give up half the realm so easily unless it was true.” He took her hand. “How many times has he asked child?”

 

Arya felt a mix of relief and guilt. “I’ve lost count,” she admitted.

 

“You refused him,” her uncle looked perturbed. “Why?”

 

“I can’t marry,” Arya whispered.

 

“You’re mad Arya,” he shook his head. “Does he offend you in some way?”

 

Arya looked down at her hands. “No.”

 

The Blackfish cupped her face gently. “Why then? You seem to care for him.”

 

Arya thought of her list. She couldn’t tell her uncle about it. She shook her head. “There is another. His Aunt. I keep trying to tell people and they won’t listen. She has  _dragons_. Aegon is her rival if they don’t marry.”

 

“Oh Arya.”

 

Arya felt irritation course through her. “Don’t feel sorry for me,” she said. “I don’t want to marry. I have told him that. It is not my fault he won’t listen.”

 

The Blackfish chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders. “We make a good pair. If your grandfather was still alive he would despair over both of us.”

 


	52. Chapter 52: Alayne/Sansa

Chapter 52: Alayne/Sansa

Littlefinger had disappeared and Petyr was back. Alayne still remembered what he had said about Arya.   _She is not your friend. She is not your family_. She must have misunderstood what he meant. He must have just been worried about Arya taking  _her_  claim. That no longer mattered now. She had no claim.

 

The castle had buzzed with the news that Rickon Stark was alive and back in Winterfell. She wondered what had happened to Bran. Alayne had not spoken of it with Petyr. She avoided talking of Winterfell with him after their last conversation but finding out that more of her family was alive strengthened her urge to see them, even though she knew it could not be. Alayne Stone had no siblings and even with Winterfell being restored Petyr had told her things. She would not be safe there. She needed to stay in the Vale, to stay hidden until Cersei was done and her marriage was finished. Petyr would protect her. He would keep her safe.

 

 _Winterfell is not safe, the Boltons proved that._  
  


She continued to hear stories of Arya, particularly from Randa. Arya was still ruling Winterfell, even with Rickon being there. Alayne forced herself to smile and laugh but she could not help a surge of envy. Arya had not wanted to be a lady. She had shunned the lessons with Septa Mordane yet Randa was telling Alayne that the bannermen looked to Arya. Arya had a choice of suitors while Alayne was hiding away, by all appearances a bastard.

 

At least she had Harry. His eye was wandering less. He wanted  _her_  and he was the heir to a Great House. It would be a good marriage. Sweetrobin was still lingering though Petyr insisted it would not be long. The shaking sickness was getting worse. Alayne was uncomfortable with the idea of benefiting from the death of her cousin but as Petyr had said, Robert Arryn had always been sickly. Harry was going to inherit and why shouldn’t she become Lady of the Eyrie if it was inevitable that her ailing cousin was not long for this world?

 

There was one flaw in the plan. Petyr had been certain that Tyrion Lannister would not elude Cersei for long. He had been certain that the imp would die, freeing Sansa Stark from her marriage. Tyrion still lived. It was not known where he was but he still lived. He had been kind to her and she did not wish him ill but she wanted to be free. Alayne was getting older and it was getting harder to delay her marriage to Harry. It would soon begin to look very strange and if the betrothal fell through.... Alayne could not bear the thought after all of Petyr’s planning. Petyr would be very disappointed. She did not truly love Harry and she was not certain he loved her but she thought she might grow to love her husband, just as her mother had grown to love her father.

 

Her envy of Arya faded when she heard her sister had marched into battle. Alayne remembered how Arya used to prefer to watch their brothers in the training yard instead of practising her needlework. _She still wants to play with swords_. Alayne had to be extra careful around Myranda Royce. Every little piece of information was a triumph to Randa, a source of entertainment. The older woman was fascinated with the “warrior maiden” of Winterfell though she did snort over the “maiden” part of the name Arya had been given.

 

“I bet she is as maiden as I am,” Randa said with a loud laugh.

 

Alayne had heard Lady Myranda say enough about Arya by now that she managed not to blush this time. She guarded her words carefully though she knew Randa thought her strange at times. Even with her best efforts she was not always able to join in the gossip about the Starks convincingly.

 

Petyr said little to Alayne after news spread that the Northmen had taken the Dreadfort, Torrhen’s Square and Moat Cailin. She did hear him talking with Lothor Brune though. Alayne was always careful not to interrupt when Petyr had company but she had not known that he was having a private conversation when she took in the wine for him that he usually had after dinner. She froze when she heard him speaking.

 

.”.. is too careful. They must be caught off guard. The wine incident proved that.”

 

“The maester did not speak?” Ser Lothor asked.

 

Peytr did not answer. He had become aware of her presence and for a moment she thought he was angry but then he smiled at her.

 

“Alayne sweetling, why are you not coming in?”

 

“I did not want to interrupt father,” she said quickly.

 

She noted that this time he did not tell her she was never an intrusion. He simply beckoned for her to come in and give him a kiss. Ser Lothor retreated and Alayne waited but Petyr did not tell her what he had been speaking of. That was not unusual. She tried to bury her curiosity. Petyr would not like her asking questions.

 

He changed the subject quickly and began to speak of the upcoming tourney. It would not be a real tourney, only those in the Vale would take part but it was a tourney nonetheless. Alayne felt her curiosity give way to excitement. It would be so sweet to attend a tourney as though all the unpleasant things that had happened in Kings Landing had not passed. She tried to quell her panic at the possibility of being recognised but Petyr assured her it would not be a problem. He began to tease her about being named Queen of Love and Beauty. She blushed at the thought.  _Sansa Stark would have loved that._

 

Days passed in a whir as the castle buzzed with preparations. Alayne wished she could wear one of her best dresses but it could not be. Alayne Stone was a bastard and she could not dress above her station. Her preoccupation with the tourney was interrupted when Randa burst into her chambers holding a piece of parchment, her eyes sparkling and a wicked grin on her face.

 

“Queen Cersei has gone quite mad.”

 

Alayne did not have to look confused for long. Randa tossed the parchment to her and Alayne felt her watching as she read.

 

“Are you quite alright Alayne,” she asked. “You look as though it is  _you_  who has been accused of treason.”

 

Alayne did not doubt she had paled. She felt quite ill. Reading the order from Kings Landing had reminded her of her father and what had occurred at the Great Sept of Baelor and of Robb.  _They were both labelled traitors too_. She took a few deep breaths and tried to calm herself.

 

“I’m surprised Cersei waited this long,” she made herself say. Petyr  _had_  shared with her that Cersei was becoming more and more unpredictable. The incident where she had tried to organise a match between Myrcella and Prince Aegon had been particularly strange. Petyr had explained to her then of how it should not be long before Cersei was finished but Alayne was not certain.

 

Randa nodded and looked thoughtful. Alayne did not really hear anything else she said. She just made herself smile and laugh at the times she hoped were right and tried not to keep remembering the past.  _Arya should have stayed hidden like me._  She had heard of the alliance between Prince Aegon and the North but she knew what Cersei was capable of. An alliance would not make Alayne feel safe.

 

The news of the order spread and Alayne sat in her place at the tourney finding that she could not enjoy it as much as she had hoped. The spectators gossiped about that and the Prince marching towards the Twins and the reminder of the Red Wedding along with talk of treason ruined any enjoyment Alayne might have had. She made herself smile as Harry took his part. He was wearing her favour and he acquitted himself well though as she had expected she was not the Queen of Love and Beauty. A bastard would not have that honour.

 

 _Sansa Stark might have been named_  a voice in her head told her.

 

She feared for Arya right up until the day Petyr stopped in the doorway of her chambers, a strange smile on his face.

 

“What is it father?” she asked.

 

“Arya Stark has been named Queen in the North. They crowned her at the Twins.”

 

He was looking at her, studying her expression. Alayne could not suppress an involuntary surge of anger.  _I was the one who wanted to be queen, not Arya_. Arya had never wanted it. Arya wanted to run around getting dirty. She had never put the effort into her lessons that Sansa had. She tried to bury the feeling and when she looked at him again she saw Petyr’s smile had grown and felt as though he could see what she was thinking.

 

 _Arya is Queen and I am hiding away pretending to be a bastard._ Alayne no longer wanted to be a queen but that was beside the point. _This is not right._

“Why wasn’t Rickon crowned,” she said stiffly.

 

“That is a good question sweetling,” Petyr replied. He did not provide an answer.

 

It was not until she rose the next morning that she realised something.  _Robb was killed because he had the crown_. Her resentment faded and she felt fear begin to mix with it. She was not happy her sister had the crown but it was for a different reason now. She knew she did not want her to die for it.

 


	53. Chapter 53: Aegon

Chapter 53: Aegon

 

Aegon was flustered as he left Arya’s pavilion. He had been forced to leave before he was ready. Arya had covered for him with her uncle but he still felt uneasy. She had been so abrupt when he first went to her tent. They had barely spoken though she had offered him some comfort.

 

He felt foolish for being so bothered about the Ruby Ford. It was not as though he remembered his father but it was difficult hearing the men speak of him. The Northmen discussed his death so calmly, talking of how his chestplate had been hit so hard with Robert Baratheon’s warhammer that the single blow had taken his life. The worst part was imagining the men searching for the rubies as his father lay dead. It angered him.

 

Hearing that somebody had tried to kill Arya had affected him even more. He had not known his father but his bond to Arya was strong, even though she often told him it would have to end. He did not want it ended with her death. She seemed so calm about it. It was stupid he knew but it felt wrong that he had not been able to protect her. Of course if she knew what he was thinking she would scoff at the idea of needing protection.

 

He made his way back through the camp and joined Asha Greyjoy once more. Lady Asha had called to him, asking if she might speak with him. He had known that Asha had wanted to discuss the Iron Islands with him so he had hesitantly agreed to speak with her. Lord Connington had warned him that the Ironborn were not to be trusted but he had to hear what she said.

 

She had spoken for a little, professing to want to deliver the allegiance of the Iron Islands to him. She swore that her uncle would not last on the Seastone chair and that she and her brother could take it. When they did she said they would bend the knee. He had asked how she expected to gain the chair and she had begun to speak of Kingsmoots and strange customs.

 

She was a different sort of woman, fierce and proud. Before they had begun to speak his guards supervised her removing throwing axes from her person and Aegon could not suppress a smile over her attitude as she parted with them and he saw Duck grin too as she japed about them as though they were her children. She was bold of tongue and in action though Aegon had the unsettling feeling that she was amused by him. He did not help matters when she related the story of the boy attempting to poison Arya by way of explaining resistance to women as rulers. He suspected she added some dramatic flair to her description but as soon as he had heard enough details he had quickly excused himself to confront Arya.

 

Asha Greyjoy looked highly amused as he returned. He only hoped he looked composed. He sat with her again.

 

“I apologise for the interruption Lady Asha.”

 

She smirked and he dreaded to think what she might know. From the way she behaved he knew she must have thought she knew about him and Arya. He cursed himself for leaving so impulsively but her response was polite enough.

 

 “Not at all, Your Grace.”

 

She resumed telling him of how the Kingsmoot worked and the precedent where one had been called invalid where a claimant had been absent. Aegon started to understand her plan.

 

“You want to use your brother to overturn it.”

 

Asha grinned. “I see you are not all looks.”

 

Aegon flushed which prompted Asha to laugh at his expense and assure him she had no interest in fucking him. That in turn made him even more uncomfortable and he tried to change the subject.

 

“You will need your brother released.”

 

Her smile faded. “I will.”

 

Aegon thought a moment. “How does Arya feel about this?”

 

“More receptive than her men but she resists the idea. It will not work anyway while my nuncle is convincing the ironborn that he can conquer the seven kingdoms.”

 

Aegon told her he would consider what she had told him but her brother’s imprisonment was a Northern matter and he knew he could not interfere, even though he might want to. He had returned to his own pavilion after leaving Asha. He excused himself from having to talk to the men he passed, knowing from their reactions that they thought him somewhat rude but caring little. Lord Connington gave him a look as he entered the tent, no doubt having heard that he had seen Arya. He did not push it though. The only person more unhappy as they had passed the Ruby Ford than Aegon was Lord Connington.

 

Arya was different during the march the next day but then again he supposed he was too. They no longer avoided each other though it was still not quite what it had been between them. He wished her uncle had not interrupted them. He had wanted to fix things and although he had offered an apology of sorts he was not sure of its effect. He could not tell what she was thinking. She was guarding her expression and although he did not think she would rebuff him if he spoke to her in the presence of her guards, he was not certain.

 

He  _was_  glad she did not ride ahead that day. It was not the time to be taking risks and particularly after what he had just learned. They also encountered heavier snows and were unable to cover a great deal of distance. They had to keep stopping and rode a little longer than usual to try to make it up before giving up and making camp before it became too dark.

 

Aegon ate in his pavilion feeling weary. Not long after he removed his boots and swordbelt and climbed into his bed. It was too cold in camp to undress to sleep. He could still hear noise in the camp and he knew he was early retiring but he had enough for one day.

 

It had not been long when he heard Arya whisper his name and knew she was close. He sat up to look at her and saw she looked uncertain.

 

“I was not sure whether I should be here,” she whispered “You looked like you needed...“

 

He knew what she meant. He needed to see her. They had hurt each other, he knew that but he needed to know that things were not still broken. He held out his hand to her and she darted forward, resuming the embrace her uncle had interrupted the night before. After a moment she squirmed and he realised she was taking off her boots. He lay down and when she finished she snuggled close to him and he pulled the furs over both of them.

 

“I won’t be able to stay long,” she said apologetically. “It was hard to get in here without being seen. As it is I think Connington knows I’m in here.”

 

He brushed his lips against her brow in response. His pulse raced a little having her so close but he only intended to hold her. There was even more chance of being found out in the tent than there was in a castle. Arya felt deceptively soft against him, even clothed. He could feel her curves, even thinner she was still womanly but he was not misled. She was not like other women. She was strong and toned and he would not be surprised if she didn’t have a dozen different ways she could kill him, even after she had discarded her knives to lie in his arms.

 

He had always tried to be gentle with her. He had learned she was not fragile, she was not what he had been led to believe a highborn lady should be from his lessons. He had been led to believe he should use soft touches. Arya had known violence and did not respond well to being handled roughly but he had learned to take his cues from her. She told him, sometimes without words and sometimes vocally when more was permitted and at times it was hard to keep a measure of control when Arya responded so ardently to his every caress. Arya was wild and all the training she had been given, all the restraint she had learned in other aspects of life fell away when he touched her.

 

He thought of his father again and wondered whether Arya was like Lyanna Stark in other ways, not just in looks. The thought made him feel uncomfortable, he did not want to think of Arya’s Aunt in that way but he was trying to understand why his father would have taken her and caused so much trouble. He did not understand why his father did that to his mother and to him and Rhaenys. By all reports he was honourable in every other way. Aegon knew he loved Arya but he liked to think he was not so mad that he would let thousands die to be with her. He started when Arya pressed her finger to his forehead.

“You have such a frown. What is it?”

 

He sighed. “I am trying to understand my father.”

 

Arya bit her lip. Aegon had seen her doing it a little more often, especially since she had begun wearing the crown.

 

  
“Are you speaking of him and my Aunt?”

 

Aegon nodded and he saw her look thoughtful as she brushed his hair back with her fingers. It had become a lot longer, it now reached past his shoulders. He needed to get it cut.

 

“You are not him,” she said softly. “We cannot understand the actions of those long dead, especially when they took every effort to keep it secret.”

 

She frowned as she said it, betraying her disapproval.

 

“He could have asked for your Aunt,” Aegon muttered. “He was crown prince.”

 

Arya’s expression darkened. “He had a wife. He had your mother.”

 

That reminder stung and Arya was tense in his arms. Aegon thought about it. Lord Connington admired his father, defended his every action. It was Lemore who spoke of his mother and Aegon knew his father had hurt her with his actions.

 

“He shamed my mother for a girl he did not know.”

  
  
Arya softened. “I spoke with Howland Reed,” she said softly. “He and my Aunt were friends. Your father met my Aunt before he crowned her at the tourney.”

 

Aegon listened as she spoke of the knight of the laughing tree. Arya told the tale in tones of admiration for her aunt though the admiration ended when she reached the part about his father. Aegon tried to imagine it. _He must have loved Lyanna._ Aegon had heard the story of the tourney at Harrenhal so many times and with this new information- it did not make sense otherwise.

 

_Why else would he shame my mother if not for love?_

 

“We are both different,” he said slowly. “I cannot imagine you being won over by me naming you Queen of Love and Beauty.”

 

Arya snorted and Aegon grinned as she tried to stifle her laughter against his shoulder.

 

“I would have likely thrown the flowers back in your face.” Her smile dropped.

 

“I could imagine you doing something like Lyanna at that Tourney,” he said softly. “I could see that being us minus the flowers.”

 

Arya shook her head. "We are not at all the same."

 

Aegon silenced her protests by pressing his mouth to hers. She squeaked a little but her resistance was brief and it was him who had to pull back first when she had clutched handfuls of his tunic and pressed the length of her body to his. He had to fight to resist her and they were both panting a little as they separated.

 

“You are worse than I am,” he teased her.

 

She flushed and he felt a small triumph. It was not often he could discomfit her. It was usually the other way around.

 

“I should go,” she whispered but she did not move.

 

“What did your uncle say after I left?”

 

The corners of her mouth quirked “He said he feels sorry for you. He told me that throwing wine at a man who is trying to win my hand is a poor response.”

 

Aegon could not repress his own wry smile even though her rejection of him was a sore point. “At least I have one supporter.”

 

Arya sighed and moved to rest her head against his chest. “He likes you. He did not want to but he does.” Her fingers laced through his. “You meant what you said didn’t you?”

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“I don’t think you would have killed the squire but you would not stand aside and do nothing if somebody really hurt me or my family”

 

Aegon nodded at her as she looked up into his face, her grey eyes shining and for once looking a little shy. She nestled back against him again.

 

“You should not want me,” she said quietly. “Nobody who knows what I’ve done should want me.”

 

He pressed his lips to the top of her head.

 

“You should have told me.”

 

She sighed. “I know.”

 

She began to pull away and he reluctantly let her go. He watched as she pulled her boots on and retrieved her knives. She gave him one last look and it was almost reproachful.

 

“You make this difficult.”

 

The march the next day was more comfortable. Aegon found himself talking with Arya’s guards as much as his own. The Skagosi was a challenge. Arya laughed at his initial attempt when she saw what he was doing and moved up closer to translate. He grinned listening to her speaking the old tongue.

 

“You must teach me.”

 

When she translated that it was met with laughter and the rest of the day was spent with him trying to learn a few words. He frowned when they laughed at him though he was not truly offended.

 

“This is harder than when you tried to teach me some Braavosi.”

 

Her expression did not change but he saw her flush a little and he grinned. The memory was not really one he should have been bringing to mind when they were surrounded by people. She regained her composure quickly and nobody else seemed aware.

 

They reached an inn just before the end of the march. Ser Brynden Tully pulled up alongside Arya and notified her. For a moment Aegon thought she tensed then her expression became unreadable. They were advised that it was being used as a refuge for orphaned children and when Aegon dismounted as they reached it, Arya leapt off her own horse and made a move almost as if to stop him.

 

“I’m sure we will be safe with children,” he told her gently.

 

She gave him the look which usually preceded a proclamation that he was stupid but she said nothing. She stayed close by him as they approached and she insisted on having guards. He thought it strange but then again he remembered she often insisted on safety measures back in the Stormlands when he visited different places and she could not be certain of who they might meet.

 

When he approached the inn he saw that the singer had reached it ahead of them. He was playing his harp for the children. Two girls met Aegon as he approached. When he asked who they were they introduced themselves as in charge or the inn, giving their names as Willow and Jeyne Heddle. He began to understand why Arya was concerned when more children started to gather behind them and he saw that some of them were armed.

 

“We mean you no harm,” he began to say.

 

“What do you want?” the younger Heddle girl asked, her eyes hard and suspicious. “We don’t want armies. We had enough trouble from the lions.”

 

He introduced himself and noticed Arya had her hand on his arm, seeming to have forgotten that she was supposed to distance herself in front of others. It was not overly improper but it was familiar.  _She is worried_. Duck and his other guards were tense too. Aegon suspected that if the children raised their weapons things would turn ugly fast. He was wearing armour but a well placed crossbow bolt could still do damage. He turned to Arya to introduce her and the singer interrupted him.

 

“That is Arya Stark, Queen in the North.”

 

Willow and Jeyne Heddle had recognised his name but they cared more for Arya’s.  _Her name is known in the Riverlands_. They were allowed inside though Aegon still did not feel overly welcome. He was appalled by the conditions inside. It was tidy enough but the inn was full of children, dull eyed, scrawny children.

 

“They are starving,” Arya whispered.

 

She held onto him tighter when he offered food in exchange for rooms. The offer was readily accepted and the children discarded their weapons.

 

They did not really need the rooms though Aegon knew they could use them. They had a little gold and could have paid but this was better. The Heddle girls were proud, he could see that. They did not want charity and gold would have gotten them little food now. He gave the order and some of the rationed food was brought in. He saw one of the men give him a sceptical look but he dismissed it. He would write to his supporters in the Reach now that they were getting closer. Their food supplies, although still likely to be limited, could be replenished from there.

 

Lord Connington came to see him in the room he had taken and Aegon could not decide whether he approved or whether he thought Aegon was mad.

 

“We had to camp anyway,” he said defensively.                                             

 

“We did not have to camp  _here_ ,” Connington said in a resigned voice.

 

Aegon’s highborn supporters would not have agreed. The decision was popular with them at least. They had not slept under a roof since the Twins. Connington left to go to his own room and Aegon began to make himself more comfortable. He did not realise the extent to which Arya approved of his actions until he heard a knock at the door. When he opened it, he found a woman he thought he did not know on the other side bringing in linen. He let her in but when the door closed behind the woman her face changed and he saw it was Arya.

 

“I will not get used to you doing that,” he said. He looked her up and down. She was wearing a gown of roughspun. “Where did that come from?”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It got me in here.” He closed the gap between them taking the linen from her. It was thrown aside rather unceremoniously in his haste to get back to Arya. She rested her hands on his chest.

 

“Sometimes I think you are mad,” she whispered, looking at her hands. “You do know they wanted to hurt you.”

 

Aegon put his hand to the side of her face, prompting her to look at him. He traced the line of her neck and shoulder with his fingers as he brushed his lips against hers, just gently at first. Her response told him she did not want gentle kisses. She caught his bottom lip with her teeth and grasped his hands, guiding his fingers to the laces on her dress. “Do you want me?”

 

_Always_

He grasped her waist with one hand, pulling her against him to let her feel his response to her closeness. He was rewarded with a brilliant smile before she covered his face in kisses. “What if somebody catches us?” he asked, unable to stop himself from accepting the invitation even as he asked the question. His fingers quickly worked at the laces.

 

She threaded her fingers through his hair as he kissed her again and she moaned as he palmed her breast. “I’ll change my face if I hear anything,” she said breathlessly “as long as you don’t mind.”

 

Aegon was too far gone to care as she kissed his jaw and sucked gently at his neck. He had shaved and she muttered something about him being less scratchy. Her words became unintelligible when the dress fell to the floor and he slipped his hand inside her smallclothes. He found himself glad he had one of the few rooms with a featherbed though he expected Arya didn’t really care. He wanted to savour having her bare against him, being inside her once more. He wanted it to last.

 

“You look tired,” she told him when he was basking in the knowledge of having had some degree of success. She did not move from where she was, pressed close to him with her legs still tangled around him.

  
He grinned, caught her wrist and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “I’m not _too_ tired.”

 

Arya sighed. “We both need sleep.”

 

“I want you to stay,” he murmured, running his fingers down her back and pressing his lips to her shoulder. She smelled like him. He liked when she smelled like him.

 

“You know I can’t,” she said in a reprimanding voice as she slid from his arms and began to dress. It was eerie seeing her change her face before she left the room.

 

He woke in the morning to the sounds of shouting. When he emerged from his room he found a gathering at the doorway to Arya’s room. His guards accompanied him as he walked down to find out what was going on. Arya looked pale and he found his heart thudding in his chest.

 

_They know about us._

 

She looked in his direction and her expression was almost pleading.

 

“Olyvar Frey is missing.”

 

Aegon’s relief was short lived. He soon knew what the shouting was really about. Olyvar was being named traitor and deserter. He had been branded for his family name. Aegon had not had much to do with Olyvar but he thought he had a sense of the man. Arya had told Aegon often that he was too trusting but he could not believe Olyvar had turned on them. When his eyes met Arya’s he realised she did not believe it either.

 

 _There is something else going on here_.

 

He joined the men in the camps and listened to the discussion. Search parties were to be sent out. Aegon could take no part, the Northmen were taking charge and a halt was called to the march. He returned to his room at the inn. Hours passed with no news before his door was thrown open and the Northern advisors burst in. Aegon was meeting with some of his supporters. They were not impressed at the interruption.

 

“My apologies Your Grace,” the She-Bear said in a stiff voice.

 

They began to retreat and Aegon called them back.

 

“What is it?”

 

He could see the strain on their faces. Ser Robett Glover offered the explanation. “Her Grace is gone.”

 


	54. Chapter 54: Brienne

Chapter 54: Brienne

Brienne had settled into her role at Winterfell but a large part of her felt as though she was not fulfilling her oath. She could imagine that Lady Catelyn would have told her that she was behaving with honour and that she was adhering to her duty. Lady Stoneheart would not be so kind. Lady Stoneheart would be demanding that Sansa be found.

 

_I should have gone with Lady Arya. I should be searching for Sansa._

 

Lord Rickon continued to be difficult in many matters but he was diligent in his lessons with her. He learned fast and Brienne expected that he would be an exceptional swordsman when he grew older.  _I pray he gets the chance to grow older._ He listened to her as she tried to teach him about weapons and strategies.

 

He was far less patient in learning his letters with the maester but he was improving. Letters came from Arya every few days. Lord Rickon could read most of the words on his own now. He would smile when he read them but then he would go quiet and brood. He wanted to join his sister or he wanted her to return to Winterfell. Brienne knew the letters were meant to reassure him that Arya was safe but the further south she travelled, the angrier Rickon became.

 

_I am not happy either._

She knew it was not her place to question but she had expected Lady Arya to return to Winterfell after Moat Cailin was secured. The letter announcing that she was marching to the Twins made her feel dismay and Lord Rickon was furious. He disappeared for hours and when one of the men found him in the godswood Shaggydog bit him. It had taken quite a lot of negotiation to quell demands for the direwolf to be locked away.

 

It was worse when the next letter was late. The order accusing the Lady Arya of treason had been sent to Winterfell. The young She-Bear had read it and shared the contents with Brienne. They had both agreed not to tell Lord Rickon. When the next letter came from the Lady Arya, it held the news that she had been proclaimed Queen in the North. Brienne could almost hear Arya’s displeasure as she read the letter. The letter was addressed to both Brienne and Rickon and it assured them that she would not disinherit Rickon.

 

_Do not worry little wolf, the claim remains yours. They need me for now but as soon as we are done I will give up the title. Prince Aegon has given me a crown. I like wearing it as much as I expect you will but for now I must do my duty._

 

Brienne was relieved that she did not mention the order from Kings Landing in the letter. She could guess how it had come about.  _The Lannisters would not have expected to provoke this reaction_. She was tempted to smile but for the mention of Prince Aegon. The Freys had received justice but Lady Arya, now Queen Arya, lingered in the Riverlands. She said they were returning the prisoners from the Red Wedding to their Houses but Brienne suspected there was more to it.

 

_I wonder if her laughter has returned with her prince._

  
Brienne had expected Lord Rickon’s fury over his sister journeying further south to grow even more but instead he withdrew more. He had kept her letters in his chambers. He shredded this one, protesting that he did not want a crown and his sister should not have one either. He then shut himself in his chambers and took his meals there. No amount of talking to him about his duty as a Stark and his promise to his sister could entice him out.

 

When he eventually did come out, he had ventured down to the dungeons. All the talk of justice had prompted him to visit Theon Greyjoy. It was only days later that Rickon insisted on Theon being freed from his cell. Brienne misliked it but there was naught to be done about it. Lord Wyman protested the loudest but it was the one occasion Rickon decided that as the Lord in Winterfell he would have his way.

 

She soon saw why he had done it. Theon Greyjoy was a pitiful, broken creature now. There looked to be no harm left in him. He may have tried to take Winterfell but the man who had done that no longer existed. Brienne listened to Theon telling Rickon stories from his youth, stories of Rickon’s brothers and sisters and his parents and she understood.

 

Lord Wyman’s displeasure over Theon was not as great as his displeasure over Roose Bolton’s widow. Walda Bolton grew larger and in two moons there would be a Bolton heir. To hear Lord Wyman tell it the child was going to be double cursed, bearing Bolton and Frey blood. The Young She-Bear had been keeping a vigilant eye on things. Despite the misgivings, the child was innocent. Aly and Brienne shared a desire for no harm to come to it.

 

_We have orders to keep the widow and her child safe and I will gladly keep them._

 

They had turned away some strangers at the gates. It did not feel right but Brienne remembered Arya’s words before she had left. They needed to keep an eye out for threats from inside and outside the castle. Brienne would have been inclined to let them in but Shaggydog had reacted badly to their presence. Theon Greyjoy had spoken up for the first time to say that anybody the wolf misliked that much was somebody they should mislike too. The Young She-Bear had nodded at that and the men had been sent on their way with some food rations. They had not been happy.

 

One guest they did allow to stay a few days was Lord Howland Reed. Brienne was curious about him. He looked over Winterfell sadly, telling them that he had not been there since the Rebellion and was sorry to see the damage to the castle. He stated that he had seen the Lady Arya (as she then was) and it had prompted him to pay his respects at Winterfell. He spent some time speaking with Lord Rickon, telling him stories of Lord Eddard Stark and his siblings from before the war. Lord Rickon was most unhappy when he took his leave. Brienne was too distracted to feel too sorry.

 

Arya’s last letter had included a piece of information which made Brienne feel constantly uneasy. The remark was innocent enough but Brienne had read the intent behind it. She knew it was a message for her.

 

_We have been joined by a singer named Tom. He plays his harp well enough but I do not care for his singing. He has an interest in justice and I hope his idea of it does not differ from ours._

 

Brienne was certain she knew who the singer was and it filled her with a sense of foreboding. His presence so close to Arya meant that it was all but inevitable that she would cross paths with the other outlaws, especially given that they were travelling along the kingsroad and would pass the Inn at the Crossroads.

 

_Did I do the right thing keeping it from her?_

Brienne had agonised over it. She still was not certain what she should have done. She would not have known where to begin. Arya’s views on death were unpredictable. Brienne had heard the valyrian saying slip from her lips over and over.  _All men must die_. Brienne was not certain that the girl would be happy her mother lived but then again her attitude to death differed when it came to those she was close to. Duck had confided to Brienne of Arya’s determination to protect the prince. Perhaps she  _would_ be pleased but would she be pleased about what her mother had become?

 

Queen Arya and Lady Stoneheart shared a thirst for vengeance but Brienne could see warmth still in Arya. There was mercy in the girl which the shade of her mother now lacked. It was also uncertain what Arya would now make of the Brotherhood. The girl was a little bitter at her experience though she did not appear to harbour hatred towards the outlaws she had met. Those people were now different Brienne suspected. Her experience differed from what Arya described of meeting them when she was a girl and when Lord Beric had led the Brotherhood.

 

A fear rose in her remembering what had happened.  _I should be searching for Sansa_ she thought again. She wondered at Jaime’s fate. He had been determined to find the older Stark girl as his chance at reclaiming his honour. Brienne had parted ways with him when she heard the news that a girl claiming to be Arya Stark was in Storm’s End. She did not doubt Jaime’s determination to fulfil his oath but she felt she should be there. It was her oath too. She had thought Arya might help her find Sansa but now she had a duty to protect her little brother instead.

 

She looked at Lord Rickon, her young charge. Arya had tasked her with teaching him of honour. It was very difficult to practice what she preached. She did her best but it seemed no matter which way she turned she was breaking a promise to somebody.

 


	55. Chapter 55

Chapter 55

 

Arya had been sitting in her room, sharpening her blades when the men from the camps had converged on her. She knew instantly that they were wrong. Olyvar Frey had not deserted. He was not a traitor. Arya had spent time with him. They had ridden side by side from the Twins. He had meant what he had said about proving himself. Arya could see it, not just in his words but in his actions.

 

Her arguments had not convinced her bannermen though. They wanted her to issue an order for him to be branded a deserter and oathbreaker. They wanted him executed. The freed prisoners from the Red Wedding were the most vocal. The Greatjon bellowed loudly. Arya would not do it. Instead she ordered for Olyvar to be found and brought back to her to be put to the question. She just hoped that if he  _was_  found that he would make it back alive.

 

Arya could see that Aegon shared her opinion of Olyvar. They did not get a chance to speak of it but she had seen it in his face. He could not help her though. The Northmen had little tolerance where the Freys were concerned. Olyvar had been given a chance and they now felt he had abused the trust Arya had placed in him. They were going to dispense justice and they did not want Aegon’s men involved.

 

Arya desperately wanted to seek Olyvar herself but she lost precious time in meetings while search parties were organised and sent out. Before her uncle rode out she pulled him aside and tried to reason with him. He listened to her more than the others but she could see his grief over her mother and Robb was blinding him. He was not going to take justice into his own hands but he wanted Olyvar found and he wanted answers.

 

As soon as he was gone Arya wrote a note on parchment and left it in his tent. After only just speaking of her Aunt’s disappearance with Aegon, she was not going to disappear herself without saying something. She hoped that there would not be panic about her absence though she expected that hope was futile. She only hoped she would not be gone long.

 

She found Tom easily enough in the inn. His guilty expression when he saw her confirmed her suspicions immediately.

 

“Where is he?” she hissed. “Why was he taken?”

 

“It was not my idea,” he protested defensively “but he is a Frey and some don’t feel it right that he escaped justice.”

 

It took everything Arya had to restrain herself. “Is he already dead?”

 

“Mayhaps,” Tom said slowly. “It depends on how long it takes before Stoneheart makes it back from Fairmarket.”

 

He looked like he was lying. Arya repressed the urge to ask about Stoneheart. Tom would not answer her questions before and she did not have time to argue now. “Take me there,” she demanded.

 

Tom sighed. “That was the plan.” He gave her a sidelong look. “You will have to come alone.”

 

“I know that. I’m not stupid,” Arya snapped. “I remember how things used to work.”

 

Tom gave her a solemn look. “A lot has changed since then,” he said quietly.

 

Arya darted back to her room to gather what she needed to disguise herself. She wore a long hooded cloak over her boiled leather and made sure she took Needle as well as her finger knife and the blade hidden in her boot. When she left with Tom it was assumed she was a camp follower and no questions were asked. She was fortunate that Nymeria was out hunting, the direwolf had found some of her old pack of wolves. If the wolf had followed her she would have been recognised instantly.

 

She was surprised to see that Tom was prepared. They did not get far before they were met by a man with horses for them. Arya felt a surge of irritation.  _This was planned, they always wanted to provoke me into going to them_. She felt a sense of foreboding mix with the resentment she had tried to bury from years earlier when the Brotherhood had stopped her from reaching her mother. The man holding the horses greeted her as familiar. She recognised him despite the years.

 

“Harwin,” she said stiffly.

 

“It is good to see you are well my lady,” he replied in a friendly tone.

 

“It’s your grace now,” Tom offered.

 

Arya huffed impatiently, not interested in small talk.

 

“Don’t waste time,” she warned. “If I find out he was hanged just before I got there I will make you sorry.”

 

She mounted her horse and spurred it on. Tom and Harwin allowed her to set the pace without argument though Tom did try to jape about her hurry. It was met with a glare from Arya and a queer look from Harwin. When they reached the river they were met by more men. Arya recognised Lem and Jack-Be-Lucky though they looked harder now.  _We are all hardened._  She refused to engage in pleasantries.

 

There was talk of putting a hood over her head when they reached the other bank. Arya fingered the hilt of Needle and let them know what she thought of that. They were insistent though so Arya gave in.

 

“If I wanted to turn you in I would have outed Tom at the Twins,” she protested as darkness descended.

 

They began to mull over that and Arya swung quickly into the saddle. She heard them make surprised noises and allowed herself a smile under her hood.  _I have spent enough time blind that this hood will be rather pointless._  Her smile did not last long.  _I have been gone too long and come too far._ She knew there was going to be trouble in the camps now.

 

Arya counted as best she could as they travelled. It was harder on horseback than on foot. She kept mindful of changes in direction. She heard other voices not long down the road. Other men had joined them. When she dismounted one tried to take Needle from her. Arya heard a crunch as her elbow made contact with his face. There was harsh laughter.

 

“She’s broken your nose again.”

 

 _Lem_  she realised instantly. His voice was muffled when he responded. “I should have worn that bloody helm.”

 

“If you try again I will do worse,” Arya declared, keeping her voice level.

 

That was met with more laughter until she heard Tom interject.

 

“I would not test her,” he said. “I believe she is not japing.”

 

They went quiet for a bit and then Arya began to feel the ground sloping downwards. The air around her felt different, sounds changed and she could smell that it was more earthy.  _They have taken me to the hollow hill._ The sounds began to fade away until she heard footsteps approaching. She was about to try and remove the hood when it was removed for her.

 

“Thoros,” she said instantly. He still wore his robes though they looked even more faded. He looked older, more worn down. He gave her a tired smile when he saw her studying him.

 

“I would say the years have been kinder to you than me but I know that is not true.”

 

Arya fought the urge to cringe.  _He sees things in the flames, just like Melisandre_. He offered her a piece of bread and she took it and sat down as he did the same. She wanted to ask him so many things but she did not know where to start. She chewed on the bread while she thought quickly then she heard a distant scuff of a boot and realised others were listening. She scowled.

 

“They fear you might try to kill me,” Thoros explained.

 

_If I wanted to they could not stop me._

 

“Is there a reason I would want to kill you?” she asked.

 

He smiled wanly and Arya felt her stomach lurch.  _Something is wrong here_.

 

“I need to warn you child. The Brotherhood is not what is used to be. The war has taken its toll. There are wounds which will not heal and those wounds have had a truly dire effect.” He sighed. “The order used to be about honour and justice or so we told ourselves.”

 

“Killing Freys was about vengeance as much as justice,” Arya said slowly.

 

“Just so,” Thoros said, shaking his head. “Unfortunately justice can be lost in the quest for vengeance. Lady Stoneheart has taught me that.”

  
 “Where is Olyvar Frey,” she asked urgently.

 

Before he could respond, others stepped into the chamber of the cave with them. There were two of them. Lem on the left was holding a rag to his bleeding nose and looking at her with a murderous expression. Arya’s breath caught in her throat when she looked at the man on the right. He was the one who answered her.

 

“He is waiting to face judgement.”

 

He looked the same but he was different. He still had the thick black hair and deep blue eyes but they were angrier now. He had looked big and strong before, he was even more so now. He had grown a beard. Arya noted he wore a swordbelt and the blade looked to be a good one. It was not valyrian steel but it was not the old stolen blades the outlaws used to carry.

 

“Gendry.”                                                           

 

He flashed a quick smile but it was fleeting. “Your Grace.”

 

Arya scowled. “You don’t call me that. I’m still Arya. Anyway, Olyvar already faced judgement.”

 

Gendry’s expression darkened. “There are different sorts of judgement.”

 

Arya looked to Thoros. “What is going on? I was brought here. Where is Lord Beric? Who is this Stoneheart?” She could hear that her voice was no longer remotely calm and she couldn’t control it. “Olyvar did nothing wrong. I promised him no harm.”

 

“Lord Beric is no longer with us,” Thoros said softly. “He is truly dead now.”

 

“Valar Morghulis,” Arya said softly.

 

Thoros looked pained and Gendry looked confused. Lem was less subtle.

 

“What are you on about girl?”

 

Arya gave him a cold look. “It means all men must die.”

 

Lem snorted. “If you think that I don’t know why you’re fretting about this Frey.”

 

“He is not the rest of his family,” Arya said defensively.

 

“M’lady will know,” Gendry interjected.

 

Thoros excused himself and Lem went with him. Gendry lingered. He moved closer and sat down beside her, looking at her with an expression that was softer. She could see he had something he wanted to say.

 

“I thought you were dead for so long. I’m glad you’re not.”

 

“Brienne told me,” she replied. She saw him tense at the abruptness of her tone. She tried to soften it.  _We were friends._  “I hope you have been well.”

 

His jaw worked. “None of us have been  _well_.”

 

_That is too true._

She tried to think of something to say.  _We used to be able to talk so easily._ She asked about his sword and he showed it to her proudly. He had forged it himself. He asked her where she had been and Arya avoided fully answering the question, instead telling him she had escaped to Essos and after returning to Westeros she had reclaimed Winterfell for her brother Rickon.

 

“Brienne is in Winterfell with him now. She is protecting him for me.”

 

Arya noticed he tensed a little each time she mentioned Brienne’s name.  _He is not happy about something that happened._  It began to be uncomfortably warm and Arya removed her cloak. It only took her a moment to realise Gendry was looking over her intently, his eyes burning into her. He looked away when he realised she had caught him.

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, remembering what Brienne had told her.

 

“Like what?” Gendry said defensively. She saw a flush creep up his neck.

 

Arya put her head in her hands. “We used to be friends. That is all we will be.”

 

When she looked up she saw that he was flushed then his expression became angry. “I’m just a bastard. I’m not fit for your grace anyway. You’re meant to marry some lord.” His mouth twisted “or a prince.”

 

Arya snorted, trying to ignore the obvious reference to Aegon. “You being a bastard has nothing to do with this. I’m not going to marry anybody... ever.”

 

Gendry looked shocked. “I thought...” he said slowly.

 

“What?” she asked suspiciously.

 

The tips of his ears went red. “I heard that you might be... with the prince”

 

Arya tensed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Gendry scowled. “Tom told us to leave. He made sure we weren’t caught at the inn but you were watched. He’s not better than King Robert you know. He might act like it but he’ll father bastards too. He had some camp follower in his room.”

 

Arya sighed.  _Of course we were heard_. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

 

Gendry gave her a look which clearly told her he thought she was deluding herself and Arya decided to let it go. She supposed it was better than people knowing the truth.

 

Arya had teased Aegon about other women only the night before Olyvar had gone missing and he had looked unusually serious.

 

_“There are no other women Arya. From the time we met I have not strayed. If it was not for the dragons I would keep to your bed.”_

 

It frightened her because she could see he was telling the truth. He was telling her that he was hers. She had tried to protest and he would not let her.

 

“He is a good man,” she told Gendry. “You don’t know me anymore. I’m not the same person I was. Aegon wanted to marry me but I refused. It changes nothing. You need to think of me only as a friend Gendry. I won’t be my Aunt, caught between Baratheon and Targaryen. Brienne told me who you are.”

 

“I’m just a bastard,” Gendry said in a flat voice.

 

“You’re more than that,” Arya said. “You know you are but it makes no matter.” She reached for his hand and he let her take it and give it a gentle squeeze. “You can’t return to the inn after I leave here. There are men who would recognise you.”

 

Thoros had returned and he and Gendry shared a look. Gendry gently pulled his hand from hers and left her with Thoros. Arya’s thoughts returned to Olyvar and Lady Stoneheart.

 

“You still have not told me of Stoneheart.”

 

Arya’s quest for answers ended when she heard a cry of horror from further in the cave. She leapt to her feet. Thoros tried to reach for her.

 

“There are some things you should not see.”

 

Arya wrenched away from him. “That was Olyvar.” She began to run. “What are you doing to him?”

 

She could hear Thoros scrambling behind her.  _They were trying to distract me_. She would not be caught. She was too quick for that. She found the others gathered in the larger cavern she remembered from years earlier. There was a fire pit in the centre of the floor. Men, women and children were gathered around watching. She spotted Olyvar standing in front of a trestle table across the cave, his wrists bound with rope. She shouted to him but he seemed unable to even look at her.

 

Some of the men tried to block her path as she darted across the cavern but she was not having it. She made it to Olyvar’s side and grasped his arm, ignoring the shout from Jack-Be-Lucky who was standing on the opposite side of the prisoner. Olyvar was the colour of milk.

 

“Olyvar,” she said softly.

 

She heard footsteps behind her and guessed Thoros had arrived but he was forgotten when Arya looked to see what it was that had shaken Olyvar so badly. Her legs felt for a moment as though they had turned to jelly and she struggled to keep her footing.

 

“Mother?”

 

The woman in grey had been her mother, Arya could see that. The creature in front of Arya was a walking corpse. Half her hair was gone and what remained was white and brittle. Her face was ripped, the flesh hanging and gaping and in parts Arya could see signs of decay. The slash in her throat was plain to see and she was making a croaking wheezing sound.

 

“The Lady says he must hang,” Harwin explained.

 

Arya fingered the hilt of Needle and looked around.  _There are too many_ ,

 

“Give us the sword child,” Thoros said gently.

 

Arya scanned the faces in the cavern. She strode quickly, unsheathing the sword and saw them jump to reach for their own weapons. She searched Gendry’s face, looking for the boy she used to know.

 

“Can I trust you?” she asked.

 

He looked startled but he nodded. She gave him the sword, hilt first.

 

“I will want it back.”

 

She returned to Olyvar’s side, thankful that they had been too distracted to drag him off while her back was turned. She resumed her examination of the thing that had once been her mother. Her appearance was not what affected Arya, not truly. Arya had seen horrors in the House of Black and White. Sad to say she had seen worse. What affected Arya was her mother’s eyes.

 

Arya remembered her mother as warm. She had scolded Arya often but there was affection mixed with it. Her mother had cared. Her mother had been Tully through and through. Family, duty, honour. Arya looked at the woman in front of her and all she could see was hate. This was not her mother.

 

_This is Lady Stoneheart._

“Mother,” she said softly, trying to appeal to her. “Olyvar took no part. You know he was not there. He did not hurt our family. He has been serving me. He has been good and loyal.”

 

Lady Stoneheart choked out more sounds.

 

“He will not turn over those who were responsible,” Harwin said. “He has continued to serve with the other Freys. He must hang.”

 

Arya felt tears prick her eyes. “He can’t hand them over. I killed them! I already punished the Boltons and the Freys who took part.”  _My mother would understand this._

 

“He preyed on your weakness.”

 

Arya stepped forward, fingers outstretched. She touched Lady Stoneheart’s face, running her fingers along the brittle hair, lightly caressing the torn skin. She searched for a glimmer of emotion other than hate and anger and found none.

 

“Do you know me mother?” she asked. “Do you think of Rickon? He is very like Robb now.”

 

The reaction of Stoneheart to Robb’s name was an awful sound. It was a true sound of suffering. Clawed fingers gouged into Arya’s wrists, prompting her to pull her hands back. She turned on Thoros.

 

“You should not have allowed this.”

 

“She is your mother,” he said. “Lord Beric passed life onto her. The Lord of Light raised her.”

 

She looked into his face, her own fury surfacing. She switched to the bastard Valyrian spoken in Myr so that only he would understand.

 

“She  _was_  my mother. My mother is dead and she should have stayed that way. I was stupid when I asked you about father. I was a stupid girl who didn’t know better.”

 

She heard murmurs behind her. Thoros paled.

 

“Where did you learn Valyrian.”

 

Arya pursed her lips. “I crossed the narrow sea. I speak many languages now.”

 

 Her hands were resting on the trestle table and she heard Lady Stoneheart making noises. She was gripping a crown. It was bronze with iron spikes.

 

“I wear the crown now,” she said to Lady Stoneheart. “I did not want it but they needed me so I took it. I will punish those who remain. The Lannisters are the only ones left. I will find the guilty. Aegon will deal with any who escape me.”

 

She turned back to the others in the Brotherhood.

 

“What is dead should stay dead. Have you forgotten what Lord Beric said? When he came back he lost who he was. I did not understand that at the time but I do now.”

 

“M’lady says it has to be finished,” Lem said.

 

Arya looked around at them and at Olyvar, shaken and trembling beside her. She recalled what the Kindly man had told her, that death was a merciful end to suffering. She had come to disagree with him on that in many cases but she could see where he might be right. She could see where it might truly be a gift.

 

“It has to be finished,” she repeated.

 

She looked to Thoros again and closed her eyes. She tried to calm herself, taking deep breaths. She heard them begin to take Olyvar away and steeled herself. She recalled what the Hound had said of the gift of mercy and moved quickly before anybody could stop her.

 

“Valar Morghulis,” she whispered.

 

Her finger knife slid in, smooth as silk into Lady Stoneheart’s chest where the heart would be. There was no breath, there was no blood. The corpse that was her mother seemed to crumple in front of her.  _I hope you are with father and Robb now._  She heard an anguished cry and it took her a moment to realise it had come from her own lips.

 

She heard shouting but her vision had blurred. She could not see. She could not hear. The blood was pounding in her ears and her breath was coming in shallow gasps.

 

_Can you be a kinslayer if the person you killed was already dead?_

 

She began to stumble, trying to get out of the cavern. She did not make it far before she was restrained.  _They will kill me_. She felt strangely numb about it. The hole was back, the hole where her heart was meant to be. Aegon and Rickon and Jon had helped her feel again but now she felt hollow. The knife was twisted out of her hand and she didn’t fight it.

 

“Does she have any more?”

 

“I’m not touching her to find out.”

 

“What do we do about the Frey?”

 

Strong arms lifted her and she was being carried. They set her down gently, back in the cave where Thoros had been talking to her. They offered her water.  _Why are they offering water to me?_   _Why haven’t they killed me already?_  She knocked the cup aside and heard somebody call her an ungrateful bitch. Arya didn’t care.

 

She heard her name being called but she tried to block it out, staring dully at the wall of the cave. She didn’t react until she felt Robb’s crown being thrust into her hands. She looked down at it, confused then raised her eyes to meet Gendry’s deep blue ones. He looked concerned. He then produced Needle, looking at her warily.

 

“If I give this back to you will you stab me with it?”

 

Arya shook her head and took the offered sword, setting it down in her lap. She looked down at her hands.

 

“I killed her,” she whispered.

 

“No child,” Thoros said from behind her. “She was already dead. You had the right of it.”

 

Arya turned on him. “I hate you for making me do that,” she spat.

 

She reached for the water after all but could only manage a sip. She closed her eyes and tried to think past what had happened in the cavern. She suddenly remembered her men, Aegon.

 

“I have to go,” she blurted. “They will be looking for me.”

 

She struggled to her feet. When she made it to the entrance of the chamber there were men blocking her way.

 

“Am I a prisoner?” she asked, turning back to Thoros and Gendry.

 

Gendry shook his head.

 

“We just hoped to speak with you,” Thoros said. “The Lannisters have hunted us. I wanted to know of Prince Aegon.”

 

Thoros looked worn down. Gendry didn’t meet her gaze. He was scowling.  _I do not want to speak of politics_  she thought, fighting to push past the hollow feeling in her chest.  _I do not want to be queen right now._  She looked at the crown in her hands.

 

“He is merciful though my opinion may change that,” she said flatly. “What did you do to Olyvar?”

 

Thoros smiled wanly. “That decision now rests with you. Our leader is gone. There are those who would look to you now.”

 

Arya wanted to scream and she almost did.  _I am so sick of duty_. She thought of what Aegon had told her. He would say she could do this. She took a shaky breath.  _I just need to get through this so they will let me go._  She tried to think of what her father would have said. It hurt to think of him after what she had just seen, what she had been forced to do.

 

“Let him go,” she said abruptly. “Let me go too. Find your own way. You could plead for a pardon from Aegon, he would likely give it but the worst should take the black. Mayhaps they could regain some honour.”

 

They still took a while before they stood aside for her. People came and went, some shooting her dark looks, others looking fearful. Some called her  _your grace_. Arya struggled to acknowledge any of them. Harwin returned just before they let her go. He knelt in front of her. She shoved the crown into his hands.

 

“This needs to go to Winterfell. Whatever else you have done you used to be my father’s man.” She saw him flinch. “Take it, I cannot look at it.”

 

“It is yours, Your Grace,” he said, looking at it.

 

“No,” Arya said bitterly. “I have one already. I could not wear that knowing where it has been.” She paused. “Wait until the army has moved on then go North.” She felt a tear roll down her cheek and angrily brushed it away. “My mother’s body...”

 

Thoros interjected. “You do not need to worry. We will lay her to rest. She should be taken to the river.”

 

Arya nodded and began to make her way out of the cave. She stumbled a few times as she went and Gendry took hold of her arm to help her. It seemed she had lost all her training.  _It will come back._ Olyvar had been freed though he was still shaking. Some of the Brotherhood accompanied them, those who wanted to seek redemption. Thoros was amongst them. Despite what she had told Gendry he insisted on riding with her to the river.

 

“It is like you said,” he said softly. “We were friends once. I will leave when I know you will be alright.”

 

_I will never be alright._

 

They rode quietly for a while before she addressed him again. “You are better than the Brotherhood,” she said quietly. “Find a better way. Be the knight you wanted to be.”

 

He did not answer her. When they reached the river he sat with her in the boat. They were almost to the other side when Arya heard the wolf howl.  _Nymeria_. The sound echoed her own pain.

                                                             

 

 


	56. Chapter 56: Aegon

Chapter 56: Aegon

Aegon tried to stay calm. He knew Arya could take care of herself but he didn’t understand how she could have left without saying anything, especially after what she had said of her Aunt. The Northmen had asked around. Nobody had seen her leave. She had not been taken, that would have been noticed. Aegon knew she must have left of her own free will.

 

It was not until the Blackfish returned that he found out anything. Aegon was in the camps speaking with his own men when Ser Brynden strode towards him. He was clutching a piece of parchment in his hand and he had a grim look on his face.

 

“May I have a word Your Grace?”

 

His tone was sharp but Aegon followed him without hesitation, walking quickly to keep up with the knight’s long strides. As soon as they were clear of the other men and only Duck remained to overhear the Blackfish wheeled around to face him. He thrust the parchment at Aegon, clearly angry.

 

“I believed you to be a man of honour. Pray tell me, did you know of this?”

 

Aegon was sure the confusion showed in his face. He reached for the parchment and had to tug it from Ser Brynden’s hand. He cursed as he read it.

 

_Uncle,_

_I believe I know who has taken Olyvar. They will take me to him. I only hope I won’t be too late. Please do not worry. I will be back as soon as I can. I do not believe they will harm me. I knew them once._

_I know it is for the North to decide but if Olyvar returns without me I ask that you get word to Prince Aegon. He will know my wishes in this mayhaps even better than you do. I fear that my bannermen may be so wroth that they will act impulsively._

_Arya_

His first thought was that he was offended that he had not been told.  _She will share my bed yet she will not share some of her most important thoughts_.

 

“I did not know Ser,” he said stiffly.

 

The anger began to dissipate from the Blackfish’s expression and worry replaced it.

 

“She is so stubborn,” he muttered. “She hid this so that it would not be found until late.”

 

“She disappeared once at Storm’s End,” Aegon offered, trying to reassure both himself and her uncle. “She came back after a few days.”

 

He thought on what she had told him as he returned to his room at the inn. He sat by the hearth, warming himself.  _She will return._ He knew she would as long as she was capable. Duty would force her return if nothing else.

 

Hours passed and Lord Connington joined him, he suspected to stop him from doing something foolish. He had offered Aegon the explanation as to why Arya did not write him, minus the usual lecture about Aegon needing to distance himself.

 

“She knew how it would appear. Questions would be asked, especially if you had gone after her and could not be found. The Northmen would have been reminded of Lyanna Stark and they would have wanted your head. I am glad she had the sense to realise that.”

 

Aegon knew he was right. He reflected on what Arya had written in the letter to her uncle. She had shown more confidence in Aegon knowing her wishes than the Northmen.  _She knows I know her better_.  _She knows I will be fair to Olyvar._  He had also figured out where she had gone. The disappearance of a Frey and Arya’s reference to having known his captors once led to one conclusion- _the outlaws_. Lord Connington was right. If Aegon had known where she was he would have gone after her.

 

As more time passed and darkness fell Aegon tried to push the nagging worry aside. He met again with his men, adjusting their plans for the march. It had to be delayed until Arya returned. There were few complaints from those staying in the inn but the leaders of the Golden Company were not impressed. Naught could be done about it. They could not execute their plans for the Riverlands without the Northern army. They needed Arya and the Blackfish.

 

Search parties had been looking for Arya and Olyvar but the search had to be called off after dark. Aegon did not truly panic until morning came. He was in the stables of the inn and he heard a wolf howl. It was no ordinary howl, it sounded pained. When he emerged from the stables it was not long before Nymeria appeared and he saw her howl again. Aegon had been familiar with the connection between the wolf and Arya for some time now and he knew what it meant.

 

_Something is wrong._

 

His guards were flustered as he hurried to saddle his horse. They began to question him then seemed to realise it was futile. They followed his lead, the other men in the yard quickly rushing to join them.  He knew it would not be as many men as Lord Connington would advise but it would need to be enough. As he swung into the saddle he shouted to Harry Strickland to tell Lord Connington and Ser Brynden Tully and spurred his horse on, ignoring the stricken look on Harry’s face.

 

The direwolf began to run ahead and Aegon tried to keep pace as best he could. The direwolf had an advantage covering the snow covered ground. The horses could be pushed as long as they kept to the road but when they veered off it, their pace slowed as their hooves sank through the crust. They lost the trail at one point and it lost them time. When they regained it Aegon realised they were headed to the river. He found Nymeria waiting for them on the bank. She howled once more and Aegon dismounted to join her.

 

He could see a boat coming towards them. As it drew closer he saw that Arya was on board. Only a moment later he saw the man by her side. Whoever he was he was far closer than Aegon would have liked. As Aegon watched he saw the man touch her arm and lean his head in close to say something to her. Arya did not push him away. They looked to be familiar with each other.

 

He was striking and Aegon felt a surge of jealousy. It was not a feeling he liked. This man was bigger than him, his build was muscular where Aegon was lithe. He was dark where Aegon was light, with coal black hair and as the boat reached the shore he saw the man look at him with deep blue eyes full of hostility. His head bent to speak with Arya again and Aegon saw her shake her head.

 

He forgot his jealousy quickly when he fixed his gaze properly on her. Her eyes were downcast and as she went to rise he saw that she looked unsteady. When she looked up he could see her eyes were full of pain.  _She has been wounded in some way_. The other man had taken her arm to steady her and Aegon stepped forward to take her hand to help her ashore.

 

“Arya,” he said softly. He had an awful thought. “Did they hurt you?”

 

Arya shook her head and he exhaled in relief. The other man looked at him reproachfully as Aegon grasped Arya’s hand.  _How have I offended this one?_  He helped Arya onto steady ground, wondering at the state she was in. She would not look at him. There was a cloak under the other man’s arm and he held it out to Arya as he reached the bank. She didn’t seem to see it so Aegon took it. He could see her trembling.

 

“Do you want to put it on?” he asked.

 

Her eyes finally met his.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

He turned to his men, telling them to see to the men on the boat. He had now spotted Olyvar Frey who looked to be in a far worse state than Arya. While they were busy he draped the cloak gently around Arya’s shoulders, helping secure it. The other man began to look uncomfortable and Aegon spotted a knife in his hand. He recognised it.

 

“Why do you have Arya’s knife? She never parts with it.”

 

Arya answered him. “I let them take it. Gendry will give it back.”

 

Gendry did give it back. Arya tucked it back away in its usual place and Aegon felt he should introduce himself and find out who the men were. He had suspicions, especially given her letter to her uncle and the lack of sigils, he wanted to confirm them.

 

“I am-“

 

“I know who you are,” Gendry said abruptly. He awkwardly took a knee but he did not look happy about it. He introduced himself as Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill. The other men who were leaving the boat followed his lead. None of their names were known to Aegon. He looked them over quickly and felt fortunate that their numbers did not dwarf his own party. He started when he saw the last men to come ashore carrying a body from the boat.

 

“Who is that?” he asked, looking to Arya.

 

She paled and did not answer. One of the men parted from the body and drew up alongside her. He was wearing robes of a pale pink and he looked both weary and wary. He spoke instead, his voice carrying an accent of the free cities.

 

“That is the remains of Lady Catelyn Stark.”

 

 _Arya’s mother_. Her pain was starting to make sense now. He gave the man a questioning look.

 

“I am Thoros of Myr, Your Grace.”

 

Aegon recognised the name but did not get a chance to respond. The men on the boat had disembarked bringing horses with them. A couple of them were now clambering back onto it to cross to the other side again. One was the man, Gendry who had been at Arya’s side. Although Aegon was pleased to see him separated from Arya, he was not sure he should let them leave. The men who had accompanied Aegon began to try and stop them. Arya grasped his arm.

 

“I know I should not ask but please let them go,” she pleaded. “I gave them orders.”

 

Aegon looked at her a moment. She did not hold his gaze long. He wanted to ask about the orders but he did not think he would get an answer right then. He told the men to let those on the boat leave. Arya let go of his arm.

 

“They are the outlaws,” he said. It was not a question.

 

Arya nodded.

 

“What of Lady Stoneheart?”

 

Arya looked even paler and Thoros interjected. “Lady Stoneheart is dead.”

 

Aegon looked at the body wrapped in a blanket and began to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He remembered what she had told him of Lord Beric being brought back to life. He could hear Olyvar Frey speaking with the men. His voice took on a note of hysteria and Aegon caught the words  _Lady Catelyn_  and  _hanging_. Arya’s dark grey eyes were haunted as she looked at him.

 

“My uncle can’t know. It would hurt him too much.”

 

Right at that moment Aegon did not care what was  _proper_. He stepped closer and snaked his arm around her waist to pull her to him, just briefly. He wanted to say something, anything of comfort but he could not find the words. She did not embrace him but she did not resist the gesture.  He knew she had fixated on vengeance for her mother’s murder, he was not certain she had ever grieved properly. She still did not sob or weep now.

 

“I will speak to the men,” he promised.

 

They lingered by the side of the river. The red priest, Thoros, suggested treating the Lady Catelyn’s body by the Tully traditions. There was a small boat along with the larger ones at the crossing and time was spent gathering material which would burn. Aegon had more than one archer with them but Arya wanted to do it.

 

“I did not know you could use a bow,” he said.

 

“I learned it,” she said dully. “I just don’t use it often.”

 

The owner of the boat was less than impressed when it was set free to serve as a pyre. It only took Arya one shot from the borrowed bow to set it aflame, even as shaken as she was. Aegon promised the owner compensation when they returned to cross the river.

 

Darkness was falling but they could not remain there. He held the horse still as Arya put her foot in the stirrup to mount it. He could feel eyes on him, not just his own men but those of the outlaws who were seeking a pardon but he ignored them. Aegon had told them they would discuss it when they returned to the inn. He rode beside her, noting that Nymeria was staying close by her side.

 

Arya’s expression was still, unreadable when he glanced at her in the moonlight. He knew she had suffered a blow. He could not imagine what it must have felt like to see her mother as she was. Aegon had looked at the body before it had been burned. It must have been a horror to see it raised. He thought of his own mother. It would have meant a lot to him to see her but not like that.

 

They were almost asleep in their saddles when they made it back to the inn. Their arrival was greeted by shouts. The Blackfish caught Arya as she almost fell from her horse. Aegon could hear him scolding her but even in the dark his relief was apparent.

 

“Olyvar Frey was taken by outlaws,” Aegon offered as Lord Connington drew alongside him and the leading Northern lords gathered around. “I understand that it has been quite an ordeal. Mayhaps questions can wait.”

 

The outlaws who had come to speak with Aegon were promised an audience after they had managed to get some sleep. He watched Ser Brynden guide Arya away and walked with Lord Connington to his own room. He could see Connington was frowning.

 

“I do wish you would not be so reckless Your Grace.”

 

Aegon sighed and felt a little shamed. Lord Connington deserved better than him taking such risks. He had spent so many years keeping him safe.

 

“I did not mean to worry you my lord. There was little time to think.”

 

It was late afternoon when he rose. He did not feel alert but he was rested enough to do what he had to do. He spoke with Olyvar Frey who revealed what had happened with the outlaws, finishing with what happened to Lady Stoneheart.

 

_No wonder Arya would not look at me._

 

“Queen Arya saved me,” Olyvar said, still looking pale. “She killed her mother but-it wasn’t Lady Catelyn. It wasn’t how I remember her.” He grabbed Aegon’s arm fiercely before remembering who he was speaking with. He quickly let go with an apology. “I keep hearing the way she wailed when she died.”

 

“Lady Stoneheart?” Aegon asked.

 

“No, Queen Arya,” Olyvar replied.

 

Aegon repeated the instructions he had given at the river. The Northmen were not to be told of who Lady Stoneheart was. It was enough that she died the way she did. They did not need to know she suffered the indignity of being a walking corpse afterwards _._  He then met with the outlaws in a private audience and heard them. The red priest, Thoros, had been sent out with Lord Beric Dondarrion on Lord Eddard Stark’s orders. After the death of Lord Stark, Lord Beric and his men were labelled traitors. Aegon listened as he described how the Brotherhood had evolved. Some of it he knew from Arya. The rest was darker though.

 

They said they would bend the knee and they wanted a pardon from him. He was less than inclined to give it remembering what Olyvar had told him. He told them he would think on it. They would be kept in the camps, not prisoners but under close watch in the meantime and restricted to a limited area. They were not to leave. Thoros requested to speak with him privily afterwards. Aegon reluctantly agreed though he kept men with him and Lord Connington insisted on being present.

 

“I know you must think poorly of me Your Grace,” Thoros began.

 

Aegon frowned. “Poorly is not a strong enough word.”

 

Thoros shook his head, a sad expression on his face. “I was there the day the Lannister men lay Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys before the Iron Throne.”

 

Aegon flushed. “That was not me.” He was so tired of defending his identity.

 

“I am now aware,” Thoros said softly. “The Lord of Light shows me visions sometimes in the flames. I know you think it was wrong to raise Lady Catelyn. It was not for me to question. The Lord of Light was not yet done with her.”

 

“I worship the seven,” Aegon said firmly. “It still was not right.”

 

“I only ask that you do not judge our fate based on your passions Your Grace,” Aegon felt the blood rush to his face again and began to argue but Thoros kept speaking. “We acted because we had no king to serve. Although we lost our way there are those of us who can still serve you well. Mayhaps we can choose a better ending for ourselves.”

 

Aegon struggled to think on the priest’s words past the reference to passions.  _He means Arya_.

 

“You served the usurper Robert Baratheon,” Aegon said, trying to keep calm.

 

“I ate too much of Robert’s food and drank too much of his wine,” Thoros corrected. “I was a poor priest but I was first sent for your grandfather Aerys. He preferred the pyromancers.”

 

Aegon thought on that for a moment.

 

“Keeping the red priest near you is not wise,” Lord Connington said, frowning.

 

“He would not be near me,” Aegon said quickly.

 

He called the audience to a close, repeating his earlier decision to delay judgement and accepted the food brought to him once the red priest was gone. Lord Connington was still talking of the outlaws but Aegon was only half listening. He was distracted by thoughts of what Thoros might know. As much as he did not like what the priest and his followers had done, there was no denying that the man had some power.

 

He walked through the camps as darkness began to fall and found the Northern lords talking in lowered voices. He heard Arya’s name mentioned more than once. He ran into Ser Brynden and saw that the man looked haggard.

 

“How is she Ser?” he asked.

 

The Blackfish tensed and for a moment Aegon thought he would not answer. Then he gave a heavy sigh.

 

“She is aloof and withdrawn. I believe she has barely slept. She speaks when she has to. She cannot meet my eye. Questions are being asked.”

 

Aegon did not have to ask what sort of questions were being asked. He had answered similar himself at times from his own men. A king or queen was not afforded much time.

 

“Is she in her room?” he asked.

 

The Blackfish shook his head. “She will not stay in the inn. She muttered something about memories. She has moved into her pavilion.”

 

“I will try to speak with her.”

 

Ser Brynden eyed him warily. “I’m not sure what you think you can do Your Grace.”

 

Aegon strode towards the pavilion, the other man walking with him. “I did not tell you this Ser but she was not herself when I met her.” He flashed a smile. “I managed to annoy her back to the woman you met in Winterfell.”

 

The Blackfish laughed, a short, loud laugh and Aegon knew he was amused despite his worry. “I suppose it is worth a try.”

 

When they arrived at the tent they were met by a handmaid fleeing. She halted when she saw Ser Brynden.

 

“I tried Ser, she was not interested.”

 

When Aegon entered the tent he saw what they were referring to. Arya was sitting in a partitioned area further in, looking at her hands. Nymeria lay by her feet. A discarded hairbrush was on the table before her. She was wearing the same clothes she wore when Aegon found her and her hair was dishevelled. She looked exhausted. She did have a cup of soup in front of her but it looked almost untouched.

 

The Blackfish retreated and Aegon approached her. He sat next to her but she did not speak. A Cyvasse board was discarded in one corner of the tent and he rose to retrieve it, rummaging to find the pieces. When he returned to her side he began to set it up.

 

“I don’t want to play Aegon,” she said softly.

 

He thought quickly. “I will play myself, you can watch.” He grinned. “At least my opponent will be a challenge.”

 

He saw her start to scowl and felt a glimmer of triumph. He played a little while, remembering the games they used to play when they first met. He did not look at her, feigning concentration. He could feel her eyes on him.

 

“Why are you here?” she asked in a small voice.

 

“Do you not want me here?” he asked.

 

She fell silent and after a little while longer she reached for the white pieces. She always chose the white. They played in silence. Aegon heard a footfall at one point and turned to see the Blackfish leaving. He had clearly come to check on Arya. When the game ended she finally spoke again.

 

“Don’t let me win the next one.”

 

He smiled and set up the board again. He could see her concentrating and although he hated to ruin it, he had to press her a little. They couldn’t just play Cyvasse forever.

 

“I know what happened.”

 

She tensed. “How much do you know?”

 

Aegon reached for his elephant, pausing a moment before he answered.

 

“I know everything.”

 

He heard her breathing change just slightly. She was controlling her expression but he could tell she was distressed by her eyes.

 

“I had to do it,” she said quickly. “It wasn’t her any more. She was suffering.”

 

She pulled back and began to rise and Aegon caught her wrist to try and stop her leaving. She wrenched her arm free but she sat back down. He continued with the game though he could see she wasn’t concentrating any more. After she lost rather badly she shoved the board aside and turned her face away.

 

Aegon shifted his seat to move closer to her and picked up the brush. She looked at him with startled eyes.

 

“May I?” he asked.

 

When she didn’t throw him out he assumed she wouldn’t fight him. He wasn’t quite sure where to start. He had played with her hair often after they made love, he was rather fond of it but he was not familiar with women’s habits. People had looked after him his whole life. He had never had to take care of anybody else.

 

“Tell me if I do something wrong.”

 

She sighed and began to undo the braided parts. He set the brush down and quickly followed her lead, noting that her fingers trembled when he made contact with them. He began to gently brush when the braids were gone.

 

"My mother used to brush my sister's hair,” she whispered.

 

He paused a moment and caught her fingers, raising her hand to press his lips to her knuckles. Her breath shuddered a little.

 

“Why don’t you hate me?” she said quietly. “Why haven’t you run from me?”

 

“Mayhaps I am mad,” he said softly, attempting a jape as he kept brushing. She did not take it very well. She began to rise again and he wound his arm around her waist to keep her with him. She was knocked off balance and sat again awkwardly. “That was a poor attempt at humour, I am sorry.”

 

“Mayhaps it is true,” she said in a low voice.

 

He would not be insulted.  _She wants to drive me away._  He kept brushing. He saw her wince when he hit a particularly bad tangle and he began to work at it with his fingers. As he scraped her scalp with his nails he heard a pleased sigh.

 

“I keep imagining if it was my mother,” he said hesitantly. “I don’t think I could have done it.” She tensed again and he was quite certain she was upset though her expression was guarded. He put his hand over hers. “That does not mean it did not need to be done.”

 

He had spent time thinking of what he would say. Connington had made his thoughts on raising corpses quite clear and that had helped somewhat. He suspected Connington was imagining fallen enemies rising. Aegon could never be quite sure how Arya would react though. He was relieved when she twined her fingers through his.

 

“I did not think anybody would understand. I wanted her back but it was not her. She would not want to live like that.”

 

Aegon resumed brushing. The tangles were almost gone. “I have told them not to speak of it to the Northmen and your uncle. If you wish to tell them it is your choice. For now you should drink your soup though. I am sure it is quite cold.”

 

He saw her smile weakly and felt a surge of relief when she raised the cup to her lips. Very little time passed before there was a scuff and he saw Arya stiffen. He looked up and saw the Blackfish. Aegon stilled the brush, sure that he looked guilty. What he was doing was fairly innocent although it  _was_  improper. Ser Brynden looked at them, his brow furrowed. Aegon was about to try and defend himself when Arya spoke.

 

“You need not look like that uncle. Prince Aegon is only brushing my hair because I would not do it myself. You did want it brushed, didn’t you?”

 

Aegon almost felt as though he was going to swallow his tongue. Arya was doing a good job of appearing rather calm. She took another long swallow of the soup and Ser Brynden’s jaw worked. He looked at Aegon.

 

"I see you are having more luck than the maid did.”

 

Aegon forced a smile and willed his hands to work, just a few more strokes with the brush so that it would not look as though he felt caught out, even if he did. The Blackfish sighed and left them. As soon as he was gone Aegon dropped the brush on the table as though it was red hot. He shifted a little further away from her.

 

“I thought he was going to come at me.”

 

He was surprised to see Ayra look amused though her eyes were still a little sad. “I will speak with him. It isn’t as though he caught us fucking.”

 

 _It is only a little better._ Aegon knew something would have been read into it. The contact was too intimate, too familiar. Arya was known to rebuff far less from anybody else but at least one good thing had come of it. Aegon could see that she had begun to let her guard down. She broke into a wicked grin, even if it did not meet her eyes.

 

"The maid also wanted me to have a bath. I suppose you want to help with that too.”

 

Even after the fright he just had the mere thought was enough to quicken his pulse. "Don't tease me woman,” he said gruffly.

 

Arya quickly became serious again. "The Lannisters still have to pay. They did this to her. If not for them-"

 

“I know,” he said gently. He thought of her whispers.  _Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei._  “I need to ask you something.”

 

“What?” she asked suspiciously.

 

“I know about the names,” he blurted. “I’ve heard you when you share my bed and you think I’ve fallen asleep. I know about Cersei but who is Ser Meryn and what did he do?”

 

She hesitated before giving him the explanation. He could see that she was defensive about it. It reminded him of what she had said to the assassin that night in the inn.  _If she is wronged she does not let it go_. He tried to imagine the girl she then was witnessing such horrors. He had thought his life difficult living on a boat in Essos. He had come to see exactly how sheltered he had been, even if he had been hiding to survive. He rose to leave her and pressed his lips to her brow before he left.

 

“You should not have been put through those things.”

 

“You won’t stop me?” she asked.

 

He gave her a wry smile even though the idea was an uncomfortable one. “I could not stop you even if I wanted to.”

 

Arya shot to her feet and clung to him in a gesture that was less than was wise given he had just been caught being too familiar with her. He could not help pulling her close, pressing her small form against him. She parted from him abruptly, her face a little flushed.

 

“Go now,” she said. “I have to see my uncle and apologise to the girl I scared off.”

 

As he took a step back he saw that she still looked a little sad but her bearing had changed. She was not looking so burdened.

 

“If you need to talk about-“ he began.

 

She cut him off, looking solemn. “I will find you.”

 


	57. Chapter 57: Jon

**Chapter 57: Jon**

 

Jon Snow still dreamt of fire and dragons. Sometimes he dreamt of Winterfell but the images of dragons came more frequently. He often woke covered in sweat. Arya had told him of the dragons coming and he wished he could blame the dreams on what she had said but they had started before he had gone to Winterfell. They simply became more vivid afterwards.

 

He received letters from Arya. They were for the most part short. She wrote him after hearing of Robb’s Will. He did not open the letter straight away. When he did he felt foolish for waiting. The language was warm and supportive.

 

_I am disappointed you cannot be with us in Winterfell. You are so much like Father. I understand, you must put your duty first. I will do my best to prepare Rickon to be Lord of Winterfell._

 

A weight lifted from him after reading it, he felt a sense of pride that Arya thought of him as being like their father and just for a moment Jon did not feel so burdened.

 

*

 

Melisandre continued giving him space but she watched him. Jon felt as though she was just waiting for something, he knew not what. Her eyes were on him as he moved around the castle each day. He knew he should be thankful that she did not actively seek him and that she accepted that he did not welcome her presence but her surveillance of him made him uneasy.  _She knows of my dreams_. He had not forgotten her telling him so.

 

She did come to him to warn of seeing an attack in the flames.

 

“Servants of the enemy are coming, those you call wights. I see walking death invading the castles.”

 

“Castles?” Jon asked. “More than one?”

 

“Three,” Melisandre said, sounding certain.

 

Despite his skepticism regarding Melisandre’s visions, Jon reminded his brothers to be ready for attack all along the Wall. The alert was sounded at Castle Black only a few days later. Jon had put a man on guard not just on top of the Wall but also from the best vantage point of Castle Black. He gave the same instructions for the other castles along the Wall.

 

Jon woke to the sound of the horn and began to rise quickly. He had a torch burning ready and Ghost by his side. By the time the horn had sounded three times Jon had the torch in his hand. He opened the door to the armory and came face to face with a dead man. He was dressed in black but Jon had trouble recognising him. His face was a ruin and only one blue eye could be seen surrounded by torn and hanging flesh.

 

The last time Jon had faced a wight he had been a green boy. He was not that boy any more. As Ghost lunged at the creature Jon did not hesitate to set it alight with the torch. The fire consumed the wight but he soon realised it was only the beginning. More shapes were coming behind it. They were slow moving, shuffling but they were coming.  _They remember_  Jon thought  _and they are coming for me_.

 

Jon could hear his brothers approaching but they were too far away to help.  _One torch is not going to be enough._

 

“Jon Snow.”

 

Jon turned, feeling a sudden warmth and found Melisandre by his side. Her eyes seemed to glow almost as red as the ruby at her throat.

 

“How-“ he began to ask but she shook her head.

 

He took a sliding step sideways and thrust his torch at the next wight to approach but as it crumpled he saw that there were four more behind it, grouped closely together. He turned to Melisandre to speak to her and saw her reach inside her robes. He heard her saying something rapidly in a low voice. Then she beckoned to him.

 

“Come closer Lord Snow.”

 

He did not have time to argue. He stepped close to her and as she pulled her hand from her robes flame streamed forth, encircling the two of them in a wall of fire. Jon felt the heat but it did not burn him. The wights were bent on their task and did not stop. He heard Melisandre speaking in another language again and an arc of swirling fire burst out from the ring surrounding them, burning the wights where they stood.

 

The flames disappeared as the wights fell. Behind their remains Jon saw the huge eyes of the squire from Winterfell, Tomas, with Leathers by his side. Other brothers gathered around them. By their expressions Jon knew they had seen enough.

 

“Are you well m’lord?” Leathers asked, a puzzled look on his face.

 

“I am,” Jon replied, not sure what else he could say.

 

He shared the tale of what had happened knowing that by morning it would be all over Castle Black. The men needed to know.  _They need to be ready._ Jon knew that this attack would not be the last. When the men retreated he turned back to Melisandre.

 

“How did you get here my lady?”

 

“I saw you,” she replied. “I made certain to stay close. I am sorry I was not here for the beginning."

 

“You were here soon enough,” Jon said, bending to ruffle Ghost’s fur. “You have my thanks."

 

He learned within the next day that Eastwatch and the Nightfort comprised the other targets but their preparations served them well. The attack educated the new recruits from Winterfell. Up until the attack of the wights the new brothers looked like they thought the Others to be a tale made up to frighten them.

 

Eastwatch and the Nightfort fared as well as could be expected. The Watch lost two men from Eastwatch and three from the Nightfort but it was far fewer than it would have been without the warning and preparation. Jon was only thankful that the dead from Hardhome had not descended on them in force. He wondered what they were waiting for.

 

The report from the Nightfort came from Davos Seaworth. Stannis remained in the Nightfort but Jon heard tales that he had an unhealthy attachment to the Black Gate. Jon was not sure of the truth of the gossip travelling along the Wall but there was ongoing talk of the Nightfort being haunted, of voices in the night. It reminded Jon of Old Nan’s stories. It was tempting to think of them as myths but given how many of those supposed myths were being found not to be myths at all Jon could not be certain. One thing he did know was that Stannis’ men were disgruntled. They talked of moving on.

 

The Wall needed to be manned but Jon would not be sorry to have fewer mouths to feed, especially if those who left were unproductive mouths. He managed to have food brought by ship using the gold loaned by the Iron Bank. Their stores had not run out but were running low. Stannis’ men did not want to be at the Wall. They wanted the glory of the war for the Iron Throne. They wanted the spoils that came with taking castles and they were not interested in taking orders from men of the Night’s Watch.

 

Jon was still in dire need of more good recruits but he could not see any hope of it. They gained some from the men Arya had sent from Winterfell’s dungeons. Tomas, the squire who had tried to poison Arya showed great promise though he dropped to his knees every time he saw Jon. He still feared the wrath of the Lord Commander for having attempted to poison his little sister though Jon knew he had feared Arya and Rickon more.

 

He knew he could write to Prince Aegon requesting men for the Watch knowing it was looking certain Aegon would sit the Iron Throne but initially he delayed. He felt uncomfortable given what he knew of Aegon and Arya. The arrival of dragonglass from Dragonstone had been welcome. Jon had been surprised when the prince had followed through. Jon knew he would have to swallow his pride and make further contact. In the end he decided to send a man south bearing a written request. He knew that was what the Old Bear would have done. A representative from the Watch sent a message as well as providing an escort for any new recruits.

 

He worried for Arya as she marched South and his worry lessened little as he heard of the success in taking back Torrhen’s square and Moat Cailin. When she wrote of the planned assault on the Twins he felt the strongest regret thus far for refusing to abide by Robb’s Will. He knew he had made the right decision but that did not remove the desire to be part of serving justice to the Freys.

 

The raven containing the orders from King’s Landing came not long afterwards. Jon opened it having no idea what it was. A chill went down his spine reading it. It felt as though history was repeating itself and he feared that Arya would meet the same fate as Robb, mayhaps not at the hands of the Freys but he was not so naïve as to assume that the weakened Lannisters forces were beaten yet.

 

The letter he received from the Twins made him smile as much as it made him worry. He read it more than once. The letter all but screamed her frustration and he could picture her as he read it again.

 

_Dearest Jon,_

_I am most wroth with my bannermen. They crowned me. Aegon passed on the orders from King’s Landing when the Freys surrendered and because I am said to be no longer a lady they decided to make me queen instead. I hate it even more than you would have._

_I am most worried that I will be no good at it. Aegon tells me they chose me as I am. The only thing that must needs change is that I wear the crown he gifted me. That made me feel a little better. It is not comfortable but I suppose it is not meant to be comfortable. It does make me wonder why people are so eager for these titles. I don’t imagine Rickon being pleased when I pass the crown onto him._

_The Freys were sentenced. All of those who took part in the Red Wedding were executed. I thought you might be pleased to know this. I do hope that you are keeping well. I worry for you and for all of us remembering what you told me of the Wall._

_Arya Stark_

_Reluctant Queen of Winter_

 

Jon was satisfied that the Freys had faced justice. He was not happy that his little sister was so near Prince Aegon again.  _He gifted her a crown_. Jon was certain he knew what that meant. He could not write back, even if he wished it. He would not know what to say and it was likely she would have moved on from the Twins before his raven reached her.  _Hopefully she will have parted from the prince._

 

The next news proved that was not the case. Arya was venturing further South, further into the Riverlands. She was intent on returning the prisoners from the Red Wedding to their Houses and helping bring an end to Lannister rule. Jon could not blame her for that, no matter how much he wished for her to return North.

 

*

 

It was after dinner and Jon was now rifling through the books sitting in his solar. He had been trying to make his way through them but he did not have enough time to make much progress with the time taken up by his other duties.  _I will have help with it soon_. A raven had reached him from Sam. He was on his way back from Oldtown with his newly forged maester’s chain.

 

Jon only managed to read a few pages before Satin appeared in his doorway.

 

“M’lord, you have a visitor. He says his name is Lord Howland Reed.”

 

Jon knew the name. He knew Lord Reed was one of his father’s bannermen, now Arya and Rickon’s bannermen he supposed. Arya had met with him recently but Jon was puzzled at his presence, especially arriving this late. The crannogman had not set foot in Winterfell since the Rebellion.  _Why is he at the Wall?_

 

“Show him in."

 

Jon was not surprised to see the man was small. He knew that was common of crannogmen. Lord Reed had an anxious air about him and his green eyes looked sad as he looked at Jon.

 

“Lord Reed,” Jon began. “I am pleased to meet you. My father always had good things to say of you."

 

Jon saw Howland Reed flinch. It was just barely noticeable but Jon saw it.

 

“Ned was kind to say so,” Howland said hesitantly. “My Lord, thank you for seeing me." He studied Jon rather intently. “I have not seen you since you were a babe."

 

Jon was surprised then realised he should not be. “You saw me during the war before my father brought me home."

 

The barely perceptible flinch was seen again. Jon narrowed his eyes.  _He is keeping something from me, something about Father_.

 

“I met with the Lady Arya,” Lord Reed said in reply. “I also saw Lord Rickon in Winterfell before coming here. You are more Stark than either of them though I must admit that seeing Lady Arya was like seeing a ghost."

 

“It is Queen Arya now my lord,” Jon replied. “Her bannerman proclaimed her Queen of the North."

 

Howland Reed went quiet and shifted in his seat. “Queen Arya tells me you refused the title so as not to disinherit her and her brother."

 

 _Her and her brother, not my brother_. Lord Reed’s tone was courteous but Jon felt the familiar sting. He had tried to kill the boy in him but some wounds still remained.

 

“It was not right for a bastard to take the rights of his trueborn siblings my lord,” Jon replied, unable to keep the ice from his tone.

 

Howland Reed paled. “You misunderstand me."

 

“I do not believe I do,” Jon said stiffly. “What is it you wished to speak of?”

 

“Your mother,” Lord Reed said quickly. “Queen Arya tells me you still do not know of her."

 

 _He will not call her my sister._  Jon repressed his bitterness.

 

“I do not,” he replied. “My father said he would speak of it when he returned from King’s Landing. He did not get the chance."

 

Howland Reed shifted again, looking as though he was struggling with something. “You and Queen Arya have a strong resemblance. She looks most like her Aunt did."

 

“My Aunt too my lord,” Jon said through gritted teeth.

 

“No Jon,” Lord Reed said quietly. “She was not your Aunt."

  

“What do you mean?” he asked. “My father-“

 

“Eddard Stark was not your father my lord,” Lord Reed said, his green eyes piercing into Jon. “He raised you as his son to fulfil a promise to his sister but I have no doubt he loved you as a son."

 

 _His sister_. Jon pieced the threads together quickly, his mouth going dry.

 

“My mother was Lyanna Stark?”

 

“Yes,” Lord Reed replied. “We found her dying of a fever in the Tower of Joy. She had given birth to you not long before we arrived."

 

“My father.”

 

Howland Reed did not break his gaze. “Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen. Lyanna claimed they were wed. The prince promised her freedom.” He sighed. “Do not judge Ned too harshly for the secrecy. The Targaryen’s lost the war. With Robert on the throne you would have been killed."

 

 _Not a bastard_ , He had dreamed of not being a bastard but in truth he was one still. _The gods do not recognise a second wife._ He tried to think of what he knew of Lyanna, his father, his _uncle_ , rarely spoke of her but Jon had dreamed of her.

 

_She was beautiful and highborn and kind and she died giving me birth while a war tore the realm apart because of the man who fathered me._

 

“Leave me my lord,” Jon choked out.

 

Howland Reed stood and inclined his head respectfully. “You will have questions. When you are ready I will answer them."

 

Jon remained sitting in his solar reeling from the revelations. The candle guttered out well before he felt ready to attempt sleep. He had thought back to the vision he saw in Melisandre’s flames. The woman had looked like Arya but Jon now realised it was not her.  _It was my mother_. He tried to recall the image. He remembered her smiling as the man he now knew to be Rhaegar had spoken of Jon before he had even been born.

 

_I should have been told._

 

He tried to recall what his father had said of him.  _Not my father_ , he thought bitterly,  _my uncle._ Eddard Stark had always treated Jon as one of his children, even while custom had him excluded as a bastard. He remembered the way Catelyn Stark looked at him, the way she had treated him.  _She hated her husband’s bastard son_. Jon was a reminder of dishonour and in the end, there had been no dishonour, not for Eddard Stark. Eddard Stark had not fathered a bastard.

 

Jon tried to think of how different his life might have been. Aegon and Daenarys Targaryen came to mind.  _They were exiled from Westeros, hiding to survive_. Even with the hurt Jon felt, the betrayal which still felt raw, he knew that his childhood in Winterfell had been a kinder fate. He had grown up with those who shared his blood, in safety, surrounded by family. They might not be his brothers and sisters as he had thought but they were family.

 

He slept little and when he broke his fast, he had Satin send for Lord Reed.

 

When the crannogman arrived Jon could see the pity in his eyes. Jon did not want to be pitied. He was still the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. It did not matter whether he was Jon Snow or Jon Targaryen, whether bastard or no he had duties.

 

“I do not have much time my lord but I do have questions."

 

Howland Reed nodded but before Jon could ask anything he began to speak. He told Jon of Rhaegar’s obsession with the prophecy of Azor Ahai, that the dragon must have three heads. Rhaegar had dreamed, he was certain that his children would wake dragons and that there must be three.

 

“Lyanna said that Rhaegar was insistent that there had to be three as there was when Aegon and his sisters Rhaenys and Visenya were the three heads of the dragon,” Lord Howland said quietly. “You were the reason there were three Kingsguard knights at the Tower of Joy."

 

Jon kept his face a mask at the mention of Azor Ahai. There had been enough talk of the prophecy from Melisandre.  _People twist prophecy to meet their own ends_. Jon could not help wondering if Rhaegar had a touch of King Aery’s madness to have held so fast to the prophecy that it had helped bring about his undoing.

 

“I was supposed to be Visenya,” Jon said with a mirthless laugh.

 

Howland Reed did not laugh.

 

“Prophecy is not something to make light of my lord,” he said solemnly. “My son is a greenseer. It is both a blessing and a curse to know of what may or will come to pass." He paused a moment. “Lyanna wanted you kept safe. She would be most grieved to know what it has come to now."

 

“Nowhere is safe,” Jon replied.

 

“That is true now,” Lord Reed said with a slow shake of his head. He looked at Jon intently. “What will you do now that you know the truth?”

 

Jon had already thought on this. He had remembered Maester Aemon with a tinge of sorrow. The old Maester had been his blood and he had not known. His words came back to Jon again. There was no choice to make here, not really.  _I shall wear no crowns and win no glory_. He would not break his vows and there would be no point to it anyway. He did not want to be king and Aegon had a better claim.

 

_The lords of the realm would doubt my parentage even more than they doubt his._

 

“Nothing has changed,” Jon said firmly. “Why did you tell me this now?”

 

Lord Reed looked strained. “Queen Arya told me of what has been happening here at the Wall. Cold winds are rising, the Others walk the earth and soon darkness will fall. It seems the prophecy is coming to pass."

 

Jon frowned. “I do not see how it involves me. Rhaegar was wrong. His sister woke the dragons."

 

Howland Reed nodded slowly. “Yet you are the one here. You are the one with Targaryen blood fighting against those who will bring the darkness."

 

Jon fixed him with a cold stare. “Who else knows of me?”

 

“Only me,” Lord Reed replied.

 

There was a moment of silence, “Tell no one my lord.”

 

Howland Reed sighed, “As you wish."

 

Jon walked Howland Reed out, watching as he departed from Castle Black. As he returned through the training yard he could feel that he was being watched. He turned to see Melisandre and felt a shiver down his spine.  _She knows_. He did not know how but as his eyes met hers he was certain.

 

 


	58. Chapter 58

**Chapter 58**

 

Arya made her best efforts to repress any lingering doubts after speaking with Aegon. She told herself she had done the right thing, the only thing she could do when faced with Lady Stoneheart but it was still a burden to carry. It had helped that Aegon had understood.

 

She sought out her uncle after Aegon left her. He gave her that look, the same one Jon had given her when the subject of Aegon had come up and he followed her to her pavilion. When they were alone he looked concerned.

 

“You are closer to him than I had thought.”

 

Arya decided to be as honest as she could be. “We became friends in Storm’s End as I have said before. I believe he knows me better than most anybody else.”

 

The Blackfish sighed heavily and gave her a weak smile. “You must be careful child. You say he is to marry another but what I saw... A man does not show such affection to a woman he deems a friend. He wants more.”

 

Arya struggled to respond. Finally she just shook her head.

 

“He is a friend,” she said stubbornly before changing the subject. “I am sorry for worrying you uncle. You can send Cara back.”

 

Ser Brynden almost sagged with relief. He came and put his arm around her shoulders and his smile was full of affection.

 

“I’m glad you are back with us Arya.”

 

She watched him hurry to fetch the handmaid, obviously wanting to take advantage before Arya changed her mind. She did not need help to bathe but her uncle had meant well.  _A queen must have her own people_  she thought wearily.  _I suppose I am lucky I avoided it this long._ She was going to be far more courteous to the girl when she returned. She was after all just doing her job. It had not been Cara’s fault that Arya had wanted to be alone.

 

Cara looked anxious when she returned to the tent. She was not a lot older than Arya. She had joined them from the Twins. Arya studied her as the young woman nervously approached. She was frail looking and had a permanently frightened manner. Arya guessed she had not been treated well by the Freys. Alongside that she clearly feared Arya after hearing stories of executions. It made Arya feel even guiltier for being difficult earlier.

 

She tried being reassuring instead this time. It helped distract her from her own problems. Cara was quite gentle and the bath was far less unpleasant than Arya had expected. It felt strange being helped though. Arya had looked after herself for so long.

 

She still struggled to sleep properly afterwards. When she rose the next morning she heard that Aegon was passing judgement on the outlaws. He had kept his word not to interfere in Northern justice. Arya knew she owed him the same in this but she could not distance herself. She made sure she was close enough to watch the proceedings without being recognised. She did not want to be a distraction. Aegon held court in the camps before a pavilion bearing his banner.

 

She could tell he had given thought to it. There was no doubt Connington had input too but Arya could see Aegon had made the decisions. He pardoned most but not all. Arya was not certain how he had arrived at his decisions but she did not disagree. Those he did not pardon were the worst of the group. They were the men who Arya knew would steal and kill without discrimination, even after vowing to keep the King’s peace. They were broken men. Her breath caught when she heard Aegon give them the option to take the black.

 

There were five of them. Three readily agreed. One spat and began to curse Aegon while the other just looked at him defiantly. Aegon looked rather imposing, he looked unlike the man Arya was used to.  _He looks like a King_. He was dressed in black but his cloak was Targaryen colours, red and black. He had an expression of grim determination on his face. He spoke courteously enough to the three who agreed to take the black, sending them to break their fast with escorts. He then faced the remaining two and his mouth twisted.

 

“Do not think to test me. If you do not take the Black I will sentence you to die for the crimes I know you have committed.”

 

The previously defiant one gave in easily, conceding to taking the black and thanking  _His Grace_. The other tried to stand his ground. Aegon ordered him to be imprisoned until the sentence was passed, giving him only until Aegon finished holding court. As two knights swept forward to carry the man forcibly away he yielded to escape his death sentence.

 

 _He thought Aegon weak._  Arya did not think him weak but he had surprised her.

 

The audience finished not long after. There were some petitions from Aegon’s bannermen, amongst them a question about food supplies. Aegon responded that he had sent a raven to the Reach. Arya melted away unnoticed as the announcement was made to prepare to resume the march further into the Riverlands. Her men had already been busy preparing so Arya promptly took her place in the centre of the column with her personal guard. She saw that Olyvar Frey was quiet and resolved to speak with him at the end of the day when they would be alone.

 

They reached the river quickly and were delayed in crossing. It took time for the large host to cross and during the delay Aegon made his way to her side. She saw him search her face, his gaze concerned and rather disconcerting and she knew what he was doing.  _He is thinking of when he found me here_. She forced a smile and he flashed one back. As it faded his brow furrowed.

 

“The man you were with when I found you,” he whispered, his words faltering.

 

Arya wanted to curse. She had hoped to avoid speaking of Gendry with him. She saw him flush and look awkward. She hated that she could not tell him all but she could not risk it.

 

“We were friends when I was taken by the Brotherhood all those years ago,” she explained. “I wanted him spared for the sake of that friendship. He is not a bad man.”

 

Relief flooded Aegon’s features and Arya was not sure whether to smile or scold him. Aegon frowned.

 

“He did not like me. I do not understand why.”

 

It was now Arya who felt awkward. “He has an issue with whoring Kings,” she mumbled. “The inn was being watched and when you were heard with a woman in your room they assumed it was a camp follower.”

 

When she managed to bring herself to look at him she saw he looked mortified. He reached for her hand and Arya quickly looked to make sure nobody was watching. Her guards and his were thankfully too busy watching either the river crossing or looking down the road behind them.

 

“I’m sorry Arya.”

 

She gave his hand a squeeze then quickly let go. ”It was my fault,” she whispered back.

 

She saw he could not suppress a grin that was almost all teeth at that, no doubt remembering. It was almost enough to make her blush.

 

They made it to the other side of the river but were forced to make camp not far from the crossing. Arya requested for Olyvar Frey meet with her after dinner. He looked uncertain when he joined her in her pavilion but Arya had made sure they would be alone. Nymeria was at the entrance to the tent. When they finished speaking he looked much calmer. It had clearly taken a toll on him being unable to talk of all that had happened.

 

Forcing herself to discuss Lady Stoneheart reminded Arya of Brienne. Arya remembered how the Lady of Tarth reacted each time Arya mentioned her mother. She had known Brienne was keeping something from her about the Brotherhood. Arya tried to decide if she should be angry. She felt angry but she was not sure if it was justified.  _What would have changed if I knew?_ She still felt betrayed. It was time to write to Winterfell and Arya sat by her candle trying to decide what to do. In the end she did not write of it. She kept her letter short and directed at Rickon.

 

The snowfall was less the further south they travelled and as a result they began to cover far more ground each day. Arya knew she needed to be more focused to deal with what was to come so she resumed her training to calm her mind. The march through the North then South to the Twins had distracted her from her routine and after being named Queen she had been consumed by other duties. She resumed sparring daily when they made camp.

 

At first none of the men were a true match for Arya, whether they fought with sword or stick. She pushed herself hard. Sparring took her back to her teachings as a servant of the House of Black and White and to Syrio’s lessons. She concentrated only on her opponent and anticipating their moves before they could make them, avoiding their slashing cuts, parrying the few blows that she did not dodge and as they tired or were unbalanced attacking fiercely until they yielded.

 

They had drawn closer to Riverrun when Arya realised that she had made a mistake. She had still been watching out for threats but her duties as Queen and Northern leader had distracted her from being as vigilant as she once was. She was sparring and came up against an opponent who was thought to be one of the Northern men at arms. His appearance did not set him apart. He was dressed like the others. He had shaggy brown hair and a beard with plain features but his eyes gave something away. They were not right. Arya quickly realised he was more than he seemed.

 

She was by no means overpowered. He made it seem as though she had superior skill and it was possibly true but he gave away what he was when Arya feinted to his left before attacking his right. He parried the attack to his left but not before his eyes looked to his right to where the actual attack would come from. She watched him closely, graciously accepting her victory and the first chance she got she cornered him alone in the camps. Nymeria distracted him so that Arya pull her finger knife from her sleeve unnoticed and hold it to his throat.

 

“What are you doing here?” she hissed. “I sent a message.”

 

The man smiled. “Your message was received Arya of House Stark.”

 

“Then why?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level. Nymeria snarled beside her.

 

“My task is to watch you,” the man said calmly. “I was sent to see how much of your training you remember.”

 

Arya blinked “For what purpose?”

 

He remained silent. When she pressed the knife close enough to break the skin he spoke.

 

“A girl has lost discipline. A girl has become sloppy.”

 

Arya remembered what the Kindly man had said.  _We are not butchers_. She fought not to chew her lip. It was true though she did not want to admit it.

 

“The many faced god needs his servant,” the man told her but his words lacked conviction.

 

_This man does not truly want me to return, even if he was sent to convince me._

 

“I left for a reason,” she said sharply. “I won’t go back.”

 

Arya waited, feeling more afraid than she wanted to admit. _What do they have planned if I refuse?_ They were only supposed to kill those marked for death through offerings and prayer but Arya did not trust them. That did not mean those she cared for would not be targeted.

 

“You need not return in order to serve,” the man said, seeming to ignore the way Arya shook her head. “You did not say the final vows but do you remember them?”

 

Arya tensed “Of course.”

 

The man looked her over. “You never should have been taken in.” He sneered. “A woman makes a poor servant.”

 

Arya knew what he was saying. She felt her temper flare and it was difficult to repress. “I did not leave because I am a  _woman_. I left because there is no honour in killing for gold.”

 

He chuckled at that. “Do you think there is honour in killing for vengeance? You kill for your own purposes, for your own pleasures.  _Valar dohaeris_.”

 

Arya did not answer him straight away. “I do not get pleasure,” she answered after thinking about it.

 

“You lie.”

 

Arya was taken aback.  _It does not make me happy_. She thought that was what he meant. There was some satisfaction from knowing her family’s enemies had been punished.  _I did lie. I just did not know it._ She thought about what her life was.

 

“I may not serve the House of Black and White but I do serve.”  _I serve my family and I serve the North_.

 

“Do you remember it takes to  _truly_  serve,” he said.

 

_You must pay the price. You must give everything including your future. You are no one. No one does not marry, has no children, has no family. All that you are you must give._

 

“I remember,” she said defensively. “I may not have taken the vows but I still pay a price to serve, even if I am not in your order.”

 

“You pick and choose what you give. You have not paid the price at all. You are a creature of desire and not just in killing.” He gave her a disdainful look. “You are the Prince’s lover.”

 

Arya was angry at his accusations, angry enough to kill him but then another would be sent. There was no point denying the last thing he had said. The last assassin had seen Aegon in her bed. She tried to keep her face expressionless. “Just so. He will still marry Daenerys.”

 

The man studied her.

 

“You are certain?”

 

Arya tried to show no emotion. “He has told me so.”

 

The man watched her, seeming unperturbed by the knife still being held against him.  _He is trying to see if I am lying_. He finally nodded but he looked amused.

 

Arya tried very hard not to scowl.  _I used to be better at hiding what I felt_. She had spent too long around people who drew out the real her. Ruling her face was not so easy as it once was. She could easily fool the people of Westeros when she really wanted to. She was not fooling this faceless man. She dreaded to think what he had figured out already.

 

“How long will you watch me?” she asked, lowering the dagger.

 

“I have already seen what I need to.” He raised an eyebrow. “You are sparing me?”

 

Arya tried to give a relaxed shrug. “The deal I made was to give the gift to those who would harm Aegon. If you are not here to harm him and you do not intend to wrong me in some other way then I will spare you.”

 

The man did not linger. She watched him go. Long afterwards she could still hear him. His voice joined to that of her uncle’s when he spoke of Aegon. The House of Black and White still wanted something from her but she did not know what. The assassin had angered her and she did not want to serve them, she would not do whatever it was they wanted but he did make her think of her duty. _My duty is to my pack, those who used to be and those who still are_. She thought of Jon and Rickon still in the North. Sansa and Bran were still hiding too.  _I can’t help them._  She tried not to frown.

 

 _I will rule my face once more_.

 

Arya did not agree with what the assassin said of those who she had killed.  _It was justice. I prayed for it_. It was true that she had lost discipline when she killed them. It was unavoidable with the executions but there had been others where she might have done things differently.  _Nobody should take notice of me_   _unless I want them to_. She fought not to chew her lip. Wanting was desire and that was why the assassin had showed disdain.

 

 _I do not get to do what I want_  she thought indignantly. Arya did not  _want_  to be queen and she did not  _want_  to march with soldiers. It was something else she did out of duty. She wanted to finish her list and then... she did not know what. The other names waited while she did her duty. The one accusation the faceless man threw at her which truly made her doubt was his reference to Aegon. Arya felt it was her duty to help him become King. There was an alliance apart from anything else but helping him did not mean she should be in his bed.

 

She ate dinner with her men, trading japes while her mind was still turning over the assassin’s words and trying to forget the crown she had been prompted to put on. As soon as they finished eating Arya excused herself, leaving them to entertain themselves. Tom was still travelling with them and she heard him begin playing his woodharp as she took her leave.

 

She passed Thoros on her way through the camps. He was sitting by a fire, looking deep into the flames. Arya had allowed him to stay in the Northern camp. Lord Connington did not want him in Aegon’s camp. The Northmen who had experienced Melisandre had been unhappy with his presence at first. They soon learned that he was not in the habit of burning people alive. They had grown to accept him being there even if they did not welcome him.

 

He looked surprised when she joined him.

 

“Your grace.”

 

Arya scowled a little. “Don’t call me that. I have to let the Northmen say it but I don’t like it.” She looked at his fire. “I met a red priestess in Winterfell. She saw things but they were wrong. She said she saw me but she was wrong.”

 

Thoros smiled. “Interpreting visions is most difficult.”

 

“If you are not sure you should not say anything,” Arya retorted. She took a deep breath. “The priestess said I have darkness in me. The dwarf woman called me  _dark heart_  at High Heart. You heard her.”

 

Thoros sighed. “These are dark times child. There is truth in it and I’m certain you don’t need me to tell you that but there are darker things out there than you.”

 

_Lady Stoneheart._

 

She watched him a moment looking into the flames then became curious. “You see things don’t you?”

 

“I do,” Thoros confirmed. “The Lord of Light shows me visions sometimes.”

 

“You are more honest than the priestess,” Arya decided. “I was angry with you after seeing Mother.... but you never pretended to be better than you are.”

 

“I have been a bad priest but that is merely telling the truth,” he replied.

 

“Not many people admit they are bad,” Arya said. She was not sure what she wanted from Thoros. The encounter with the faceless man had made her angry and she still felt bruised by what he had said. “You try to serve the Red God,” she said slowly.

 

Thoros chuckled. “I try,” he conceded.

 

Arya did not smile. “Somebody told me that to truly serve there is a price to pay. Duty requires sacrifice.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m not sure if I can make the sacrifice.”

 

“I am not the best person to ask,” Thoros said, his voice sounding serious. Arya began to rise but he stopped her by putting his hand on her arm. “What you did in the Hollow Hill was more sacrifice that most people are capable of. I do not believe anybody could say you were selfish.”

 

The words sounded good but Arya was still unconvinced. “You do not know what I have done. You do not know what I must do.”

 

Thoros smiled a sad smile and gazed intently into the flames. He removed his hand from her arm. “I am aware of more than you know child.”

 

Arya leapt to her feet feeling shaken. She studied his face but he was lost in whatever he was seeing in his fire. He revealed nothing and he did not look at her again. Arya retreated to her pavilion desperately trying to forget the day so she could sleep. It was useless. 

 

_I will hunt in Nymeria’s skin tonight._

 

She managed to distance herself from Aegon for two days before he confronted her in her pavilion. The Blackfish was in charge of the outriders and had journeyed out with a scouting party to see what welcome they could expect at Stone Hedge, the seat of House Bracken. Arya was alone apart from Nymeria when Aegon burst in unannounced. Arya saw Duck was with him but the big man quickly backed away to wait discreetly outside.

 

“You should not be here,” Arya told him.

 

Aegon frowned. “Has something happened? I feel as though you are avoiding me.” He approached her so quickly he caught her before she got a chance to properly evade him. It did not help that Nymeria somehow got in her way. He brushed her cheek with his long elegant fingers and she cursed herself for being too weak to swat his hand away. He flashed a smile. “You know you can tell me if something is bothering you.”

 

Arya had thought about what she wanted to say when she saw him but he was making it so difficult.  _Why can’t he be like Joffrey just this one time_? She swallowed hard and pushed his hand away.

 

“I have said before we cannot do this. I meant it Aegon.”

 

His brow furrowed. “I know,” he said slowly “I just thought-“ He flushed and looked at the ground. “Daenerys is not here  _yet_ ,” he whispered.

 

“You want to fuck me until she comes to Westeros,” Arya replied bluntly.

 

Aegon paled and he looked appalled. “No,” he exclaimed. “It is not like that. You know it isn’t, you know I would not...” His jaw worked. “You know me better than that.”

 

“I have a duty,” she said, trying to keep her voice firm. “I will help you take the throne but no more. My duty is to my pack, my family and to the North. I need to serve them. You are not part of my pack.”

 

Aegon began to pace. He was not looking at her and his voice sounded hollow when he responded. “Why are you being like this? I wanted to make you family and you refused. It never mattered before that I was not a Northman.”

 

Arya avoided the question. “You are a dragon. I hear it all the time. You need to think of Daenerys instead. Let me go so I can do what I need to do.”

 

He stopped still and looked at her. His violet eyes were so full of hurt that it tore at her. “I was not aware I was stopping you from doing anything,” he said in an icy tone. “I will leave you be  _Your Grace._ ” He spun on his heel to walk out and his shoulders were slumped. She knew then she could not do it.

 

“Wait,” she called to him. He stopped and she had her arms around his waist before he could even turn around. She rested her head against his back. “I’m sorry Aegon. Don’t leave.”

 

He freed himself from her embrace and turned to face her. His expression was wary and his body language still tense. “You have never played games with me Arya. Tell me what is going on.”

 

Arya took a deep breath and asked him to sit with her. He listened intently as she told him of her visitor and what he had said. When she finished she let him take her hand.

 

“It bothered you,” he said. He sounded irritated as he kept speaking. “You should not let it bother you. The assassins are not  _pure_. They are not faultless. You have said so yourself. They have no right to judge you.”

 

“I am worried he was right,” she said quietly.

 

He went quiet for a moment. “You don’t know what his motive was,” he finally said. “Mayhaps he was trying to make you doubt.”

 

Arya thought on that. She still was not sure. “You should be careful with your guards,” she said softly. “He said he was not after you and I watched him leave but you should not take risks.”

 

Aegon shifted closer and pulled her into his arms. “You will protect me too,” he whispered.

 

Even though she knew she should resist she couldn’t. She allowed him to comfort her and when he pulled back and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear she let him do that too. Arya knew she had lost the opportunity when he began to press kisses to her forehead, her cheek, her jaw then finally her lips.

 

 _I will give him up_  she thought to herself as she yielded to him,  _just not yet._

 

 


	59. Chapter 59: Cersei

**Chapter 59: Cersei**

Cersei sat in her solar breaking her fast. Her day had not started off well. Myrcella did not have the same meekness Tommen had. Myrcella wanted to attend small council meetings. Myrcella wanted to read all orders before she signed them. Myrcella asked questions and if she did not like the answer she challenged Cersei. She was not as wilful as Joffrey but she most certainly was not as meek as Tommen. Cersei usually managed to cow her but it was not so easy as it was when her daughter was younger. It was most vexing.

 

_She spent too long in Dorne._

 

Cersei still ruled as Regent but she was surrounded by fools who wanted to undermine her. They influenced Myrcella, Cersei was sure of it. Her daughter had been very difficult in the case of Arya Stark. Myrcella remembered Sansa with some fondness and at first would not see the threat the other Stark girl posed. It took some effort to convince her to sign the order.

 

Myrcella wanted Trystane Martell brought to King’s Landing. They argued about it. Myrcella was very courteous in all things but she argued all the same. Doran Martell had ended the betrothal after hearing of the attempt to match Myrcella with Aegon Targaryen. Myrcella did not understand.

 

“Trystane was my friend.”

 

“Now he is not.”  _He never was_.

 

“He was  _supposed_  to come with me when I travelled from Dorne. We were going to marry.”

 

Mycella’s green eyes filled with tears. Cersei still found her hard to look at. Myrcella had been so beautiful. Ser Gerold Dayne had ended that when he maimed her. Cersei knew all about disappointed hopes where marriage was concerned but she could not feel sympathy. They would not survive if they spent their time wallowing.

 

“What have I told you?” she said sharply.

 

Myrcella sniffled a little. “Queens do not cry.”

 

 _Lannister queens do not cry._  Cersei resisted the urge to snap at her.

 

“You will still marry. You will have a better match.”

 

Myrcella was no longer teary and the look she gave Cersei was almost suspicious. Offers came but Cersei refused them. They were not suitable and there was a risk that a consort would take the rule. The rule was hers. Cersei did not mean to give it up until Myrcella came of age and that would be soon enough. That assumed though that they lived that long. She reached out and tidied some stray hairs which had come loose from Myrcella’s hairnet.

 

“We can only trust each other.”

 

“Yes mother,” Myrcella replied, her tone as meek as it ever could be these days. There was a glint of something Cersei did not like in those green eyes. Myrcella left and Cersei hoped for some peace. She finished eating and called her handmaid in to get dressed. The gown she chose was Lannister crimson trimmed in gold.

 

_I will mourn no more. I must remind them I am a lioness._

 

There was a small council meeting to attend but Cersei had a little time before that. Later she would sup with Taena Merryweather. That always cheered her. The Myrish woman was one of the few people Cersei enjoyed.

 

Her train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the door. Lord Qyburn was announced and Cersei swallowed down her irritation.  _A queen has no rest._

 

“If it please Your Grace I have reports.”

 

 _At least he knows to come to me_. Others had chosen to go directly to Myrcella. Cersei smiled for him and bade for him to sit with her in her solar.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“The Poor Fellows have become most unruly. They have-“

 

“I know about this,” Cersei said impatiently. “Have the gold cloaks deal with them. It should have been done long ago.” The High Septon had caused Cersei nothing but trouble. Even after the trial he continued to baulk her in every way he could. The latest was his refusal to anoint Myrcella as Queen. With Tommen she had been able to coerce him by agreeing to restore the faith militant. She did not have a bargaining chip this time.

 

 _He believes Myrcella is Jaime’s despite me being found innocent._  Cersei knew that she could not convince him otherwise.  _I will have to find a catspaw._

 

Qyburn nodded. “It will be done. There has also been more talk of dragons in the East.”

 

Cersei waved her hand dismissively. “There has also been talk of krakens and giants. People will tell tales. I do not care about the East. Is there anything more?”

 

Qyburn hesitated. “There is Your Grace. It is about the orders against Arya Stark.”

 

She leaned forward eagerly. “Yes. Is she dead?” Cersei had been certain that  _somebody_  would have turned on the girl. Despite Tyrion still evading her, she had spread the news that the same reward would be given for the Stark girl’s head. A lordship was a small price to pay. She realised instantly from Qyburn’s expression that it was not to be good news. A flicker of something that almost looked like fear crossed his face. “What is it?”

 

“The Northmen were reportedly incensed when they read the orders. They proclaimed her Queen in the North.”

 

 _Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another..._  Cersei began to find it hard to breathe.

 

“How?” she choked out. “She is not Robb Stark’s heir.” A pleasing thought crossed her mind as she fought to compose herself. “The Targaryen will see her as rebelling against his claim.”

 

Qyburn looked sympathetic and Cersei wanted to hurt him for it. “Aegon Targaryen is said to have given her the crown she now wears. He gave his blessing. The Northmen joined the Targaryen army and are marching through the Riverlands.”

 

Cersei once tried to tell Sansa Stark of a woman’s weapons. The girl had looked horrified at the mere thought of using seduction as a weapon. It seemed her sister had learned the lesson exceedingly well. Cersei looked down and saw her fingernails had gouged her palms.

 

The Tyrell army was all but gone. The only reason they had not openly turned their cloaks was because the Lady Margaery remained a  _guest_  in the Red Keep. Mace Tyrell kept requesting that she return to Highgarden but Cersei managed to put him off. The Redwyne fleet still battled the Ironborn otherwise Cersei had no doubt they would have been looking to betray Myrcella too.

 

The forces from the Westerlands guarded King’s Landing in case of an attack. Cersei knew it was no longer just a possibility. It was a certainty. The Boltons and Freys had fallen and their other allies betrayed them at every turn. There were almost as many enemies within the walls of the Red Keep as there were outside it.  _Even if Myrcella married to form a new alliance it would not save us now_. The threat now made Stannis seem like a distant memory.

 

“What will you do if the city falls?”

 

Cersei looked at him sharply. His expression seemed innocent, curious even. Qyburn had his whisperers. Cersei knew he must suspect her plans.

 

“It must not come to that. Is he back?”

 

Qyburn smiled. “It will be any day now.”

 

_That girl will not take everything. I will not let her._

 

“Tell me when he returns.”

Cersei suffered through the small council meeting. The Grand Maester was a lickspittle, agreeing with everything she said. He was an improvement on Pycelle though he always had an offensive odour about him. Nymeria Sand looked as much a viper as her father was. Everything she said sounded like it was laced with poison even when she uttered it in such a sweet tone. Qyburn made himself useful while Orton Merryweather was useless but did not challenge her.

 

Myrcella arrived late to the meeting but her arrival signalled less difficulty than usual. The council members who were prone to undermine Cersei when Myrcella was present were too anxious to cause too much trouble. They all knew that an army would march on King’s Landing sooner rather than later. The impending attack was all they could talk about. Nymeria Sand looked altogether too pleased.  _That one will be the first to die if I think the castle will fall._  Cersei already would have disposed of her if she did not think it might cause Dorne to unite with the Targaryen.

 

She quickly grew impatient with them.

 

“Is there anything else to speak of other than this attack which has not happened yet?”

 

That signalled a change of subject to the lack of gold and the scarcity of food in the city. The Iron Bank of Braavos would not treat with them. They had raised taxes recently but no coin from the increase had been seen yet and they did not have the means to send men out to forcibly collect it. Cersei began to wish she had not diverted their attention. She felt worn out by their incompetence when the meeting finally drew to a close.

 

The prospect of seeing Taena Merryweather no longer held the same charm it had at the start of the day. Cersei joined the Myrish woman and Taena attempted to comfort her but Cersei was not in the mood. Her mood was even worse when Nymeria Sand disappeared two days later. Cersei questioned the servants sharply and Qyburn put his spies to work but there was no trace of the Dornishwoman. She hoped that the viper’s daughter had met with foul play but she feared it was worse than that.

 

The sight of Ser Robert Strong however raised Cersei’s spirits. Qyburn came to her only a few days after Nymeria Sand vanished to say Ser Robert had returned.  _Would that he had been here sooner._  His white armour gleamed and he looked as formidable as he had that first day Cersei laid eyes on him on that terrible day at the end of her walk from the Great Sept. He stood before her, silent as always and awaiting her command.

 

“Ser Robert,” she said, softly and sweetly.

 

The knight took a knee before her and Cersei felt the same triumph she always felt at the sight.  _He obeys me and only me._

 

“You must go to the Riverlands,” Cersei said. “You must kill Aegon Targaryen and Arya Stark. Do not return until they are dead.”

 

The knight remained silent but Cersei did not doubt his acceptance. He rose and turned on his heel, his snowy white cloak billowing behind him as he began to take long strides. He was clearly bent on his task already. She suddenly realised she had missed something and called after him.

 

“Bring me their heads.”

 

It was reported later that Ser Robert had taken one of the fastest horses from the stables and ridden out through the gates on his own. He had not taken any supplies. Cersei met with Taena Merryweather in much higher spirits this time. When the Myrish woman asked her about her good mood she simply smiled enigmatically.

 

_An army did not stop him before. He will not fail me now._

The Stark girl and the Targaryen prince were as good as dead. They just did not know it yet.

 


	60. Chapter 60: Connington

**Chapter 60: Connington**

 

Jon Connington paused at the entrance to Aegon’s tent. The laughter from within carried out across the camp. There was a gathering inside comprising Aegon’s leading bannermen, some of the Northern advisors, Ser Brynden Tully, Lord Jonos Bracken, Duck, the Prince himself and of course Arya Stark. They were seated on campstools and the braziers had been lit spreading warmth through the partitioned area.

 

The army was camped outside Stone Hedge. The Blackfish and the Stark girl had met with Lord Jonos earlier in the day. Jon did not know the details of it but it could not have gone too badly considering the man had left his castle to break bread with Aegon as well as Brynden Tully. Lord Jonos gave Arya a queer look every so often but that did not strike Jon as overly strange. It seemed only natural given the tales the Riverlands lords must have heard.

 

It was a light hearted gathering. The men traded japes and stories and at intervals somebody would burst into song. There was good reason to be in high spirits. They gained more allies with each passing day. Dissent against the Lannisters grew and the most recent trigger was higher taxes. Each battle had been a success but Jon knew their work was far from done. 

 

_It will not be over until Aegon sits on the Iron Throne._

 

While he watched he became aware of a pair of eyes on him. Arya Stark had a smile pasted on her face to match the others in the tent but those grey eyes were not smiling. She was seated next to Aegon who at intervals glanced at her, a soft smile gracing his features. Jon felt a knife twist in his gut every time he saw that look. He was aware that the girl had tried to end things again but it had not worked.  _She knows more of the world than almost everybody here_. Those knowing eyes were now trained on him.

 

He saw her make a minute gesture to a stool and gave the slightest shake of his head. Aegon took this moment to notice him and called out a greeting and an invitation to join them. Before Jon could answer him Arya (he could not manage to call her Queen and she had not insisted) leaned over and said something quietly in Aegon’s ear before excusing herself.

 

The men in the tent did not question the Northern leader leaving to speak with the Prince’s Hand. It was not unusual for her to leave them to speak with one person or another. She continually stopped to speak with her men, Aegon’s men and smallfolk along the way. It had bothered him at first but she was not costing them time during the march and because Aegon was often with her it helped win even more of the people to their cause.

 

As much as Jon feared for the risk she posed to Aegon taking the throne and his chances of winning Daenerys, he had grown to grudgingly respect her. She of all people seemed to understand what needed to be done. He was vexed by her presence but at the same time she was an asset they needed. He had spoken with her on occasion and he was aware she had intervened on his behalf with Aegon when the prince was being particularly trying.

 

“Will you walk with me my lord?” she asked him now.

 

Connington nodded and they both walked in silence for some distance.

 

“Tell me of the meeting with Lord Jonos.”

 

“Aegon already knows,” she replied quickly. “You will have seen that Lord Jonos came to the camps rather than inviting us to stay in his castle. My uncle is quite wroth with him.”

 

“Will he join us?” Jon prompted.

 

The girl chewed on her lip for half a second. A brief scowl crossed her face then all expression disappeared. “Uncle Brynden says that he turned his cloak first. He knelt to the Lannisters as soon as Robb died, before any of the other lords of the Riverlands. He besieged the Blackwoods when they would not kneel.”

 

The girl was angry. She spoke dispassionately, almost as she would about the weather but all the same it was plain to Jon that she was enraged. “Will he join us?” Jon prodded again.

 

“Yes,” the girl finally said. “The Lannisters have taken his daughter as a hostage though.”

 

Connington looked at Arya. There was something hard in her eyes as she spoke of Jonos Bracken and he remembered the way Lord Jonos had looked at her in the tent. Aegon had spoken of her confrontation with Stannis at Winterfell. Jon had yet to witness her full power. Part of him would have liked to have been there to see her speak to Lord Jonos. Something of import had clearly transpired for the man to have angered her and yet become an ally. He ran through their list of allies in his head, remembering the news he had just received.

 

“You are troubled.” She did not phrase it as a question. He frowned in response. Jon prided himself on hiding his feelings well but the girl always knew. “I do not ask you to tell me. I just want to know...” They stopped and he saw her struggling with some inner turmoil.

 

“He is not in danger,” Jon said gruffly.

 

The smallest flicker of relief, almost unnoticeable crossed that face. Most people would have missed it. Jon had often thought the girl was toying with Aegon. The prince insisted she was not but the infatuation had appeared one sided for a time. Jon now knew better. Arya Stark would never admit it but she was clearly just as attached as Aegon was. Connington hesitated before telling her of the raven from Dorne.

 

“Daenerys’ people have returned Quentyn Martell’s body to Prince Doran by ship.”

 

Another person would have exclaimed over the prince being dead. They would have expressed foolish notions over his passing and uttered false courtesies about how sad and awful it was. They would have asked question after question of Connington. How did it happen? What did Doran say? Arya Stark was silent. When she did speak the thought she voiced was the same one Connington had.

 

“Prince Doran will want vengeance now.”

 

Doran had dithered and waited. Connington suspected that he was waiting for the dragons and the girl obviously thought so too. He was not stupid. There was a reason Quentyn Martell had been sent to Daenerys and if the boy had been successful Dorne would have been split. It would have been a choice between supporting the dragon queen who had taken a Dornish prince as her consort or Princess Elia’s son. That choice was now taken. The dragons had killed the Dornish prince.

 

“He does,” Jon confirmed. “Aegon has Dorne now. They will not wait for the dragons to destroy the Lannisters.”

 

There was more and Jon could see the girl knew. She would not know the details but she knew there was more to it. It had not been expressly said in the letter but Dorne would not welcome Daenerys kindly. He had thought about the Stark girl, Dorne would not have liked her linked with Aegon. It would be a reminder of the insult to Elia but this was worse. Arya Stark was innocent of the actions which sparked the Rebellion, no matter the resemblance she bore to her Aunt. Daenerys however was responsible for Quentyn’s death if the rumours could be believed. 

 

_The union is still necessary, Daenerys and her dragons are a threat to Aegon’s claim._

 

“Would you like to spar my lord? I know a place.”

 

Jon was relieved not to be asked more of Dorne but the offer caught him off guard. He scowled for a moment before he caught her expression. She was studying his right hand thoughtfully. They were still standing in the one spot and he felt strange as she touched his fingers over his glove. He looked around quickly and saw a brief rather wicked smile cross her face.

 

“Are you afraid somebody will think we are lovers?” The thought had not crossed his mind. Jon was more concerned that somebody might suspect his greyscale. Her face became still again but he could see amusement twinkling in her eyes. “If I am asked I can tell them you refused me.”

 

Jon did not smile and her amusement quickly faded. He confirmed for her that he could not feel his hand and after retrieving a blunted sword he followed her to an empty clearing. It was a useful exercise. Jon was under no illusions that Arya was not using her full skill against him. He held back at first himself, testing his own reflexes. It had been some time since he had truly been in combat. Command kept him out of most of the fighting but everything came back to him easily.

 

“It does not seem to be causing you much of a problem,” Arya observed. He could not help feeling satisfied when he heard that she was breathing heavily. She evaded him but it was taking some effort on her part. He had watched her with the other men. It was not often she was tested.

 

“It is not,” he confirmed. He could barely feel his grip on the sword but his fingers were doing as he asked nonetheless.  He knew it would not remain so. It would not be long before he became slower and clumsier. The practice was over earlier than he would have liked although he would never tell her that. He flexed his fingers as he returned the blunted sword to its place. They began the walk back to Aegon’s tent. Jon kept his gaze straight ahead.

 

“I do not know what to do my lord,” she said softly.

 

Jon did not need to ask what she referred to. He wanted to tell her she should go far away but he knew that even if it was possible it would do no good. Jon had raised Aegon and he had called him his son. He knew the boy. Aegon’s heart was loyal and it was clear he loved this girl with all he had. Even when she had been half a world away the bond had not been severed. They argued about it but it changed nothing. Jon no longer tried to fight him over it.

 

“You will leave before he meets Daenerys.”

 

If she was surprised she covered it well. Her only response was a nod. Jon would have advised her to be discreet but he knew she was not the problem. When others were around Arya Stark gave no indication that there was any improper warmth between her and Aegon. In private it was a different matter. He heard them some nights talking in hushed voices in the tent. Once he had interrupted them. Aegon said they were dancing. It appeared to be the truth although given the Stark girl’s aversion to dancing Jon had thought it strange.

 

“I did not want to,” she protested, still trapped in the prince’s arms. “He blackmailed me.”

 

Aegon had smiled triumphantly despite Jon setting a cold gaze on them. He did not ask about the blackmail. He did not want to know. Recently they had begun something new. Jon walked into the tent and found Aegon with his eyes closed and his fingers gently tracing the Stark girl’s face. Duck was watching them curiously and Connington was exasperated. She had looked at him quite calmly and made no effort to break away from the improper contact.

 

“I am teaching Aegon the lying game. He is not very good at it.”

 

Aegon’s fingers paused and he opened his eyes. “Is that a lie?” he asked with a crooked smile.

 

Arya had looked at him with unconcealed frustration though she still did not remove his fingers. “Don’t be stupid.”

 

Jon held his tongue as she explained how to tell lies from truths. He could not object to her trying to teach the prince but he wished that Aegon did not look so content. He consoled himself that it was unlikely they would be seen and if they were they had an excuse, however flimsy.

 

He knew Brynden Tully suspected something but the knight was keeping his suspicions to himself. Duck knew but he would keep quiet. He was loyal to Aegon and his fondness for the girl would also ensure he did not risk making her the subject of a scandal. Jon knew that Duck spent time in her tent when he was not on duty. He had seen them laughing together and trading stories. Arya was more affectionate than she should be towards the knight and Duck had now taking to fondly calling her the little queen even in the company of men who did not approve of Northern independence.

 

Haldon and Lemore both knew of the affair as well though they pretended not to. The others merely thought Aegon was another of the Stark girl’s admirers. She had no shortage of those but it was not fit for the prince to appear as a suitor to another. It would need to be explained away if word reached Daenerys. There were other concerns which bothered Jon more. He had learned to his frustration that Arya’s presence had a positive effect on Aegon. He was better when she was close. The prince did not doubt himself, he was more focused, happier and less inclined to make rash decisions. The girl gave him good counsel. She was showing her value more and more and it only made the situation more difficult.

 

Her voice cut across his thoughts and brought him back to the present.

 

“I will take them back to my tent so that you can speak with him.”

 

Jon grunted an acknowledgement. He originally came to the tent to speak with Aegon but the time spent with the girl had been of much use. When they reached the tent it only took a quick word from her and the tent was all but vacated. He did not doubt she would tell her bannermen of Dorne but it mattered little.

 

Aegon asked far more questions than Arya had. He did not mind it from the prince. Aegon grasped the implications of his cousin’s death rather quickly. He frowned over the manner of the death.

 

“Would my Aunt really set her dragons on people like that?”

 

Jon thought of Aerys.  _She would if she is her father’s daughter_. “We do not know,” was the reply he gave. “It is a rumour but we do know Quentyn was burnt by the dragons. The circumstances will matter little to your uncle.” He paused. “There is something else. A messenger brought a letter from Harrenhal. Lady Lemore will be joining us.”

 

Aegon smiled broadly and began to talk rapidly of the things he had to share with the septa. Jon did not think it wise for Lemore to be in the war zone but the presence of the red priest had made it necessary. It was known that the faith resisted Stannis because of his closeness to the red priestess. Aegon could not afford for it to appear that he had abandoned the Seven. He studied Aegon as the young prince spoke.

 

Aegon had not cut his hair and Connington could not help but notice how like Rhaegar’s it was. The resemblance had grown as the boy aged. Aegon’s speech was not the same. The son did not have the steely tones of Rhaegar though if he was truly vexed it came close. His disposition differed. Aegon did not have the air of sadness about him, he laughed easily and Rhaegar’s eyes were indigo rather than Aegon’s violet but they shared many other features. 

 

_He is a dragon when he has to be._

 

It became late and Jon rested his gloved hand on Aegon’s shoulder, interrupting his stream of chatter. The prince suddenly seemed to realise and he looked a little guilty.

 

“Goodnight my lord.”

 

They resumed their march the next day after a brief visit inside Stone Hedge. Lord Jonos was not overly welcoming and Jon guessed he was trying to be cautious for the sake of his hostage daughter. The servants whispered as they walked through the castle and part of the cause of Arya’s annoyance was revealed. Lord Jonos had tried to eject her to speak with the men, claiming war was a man’s business. Jon seemed to remember a time when he had made the same claim himself, completely unaware of who he was speaking with. 

 

 _Lord Jonos should be thankful the direwolf was not present_.

 

Jon was accustomed to seeing the wolf by Arya’s side however since they had crossed the Trident the animal had all but disappeared. It was rarely by the girl’s side now. They heard it often. There were other wolves in the Riverlands and the direwolf had joined with them. It was troubling. Those who were there when Arya first came to Storm’s End had not forgotten the huge wolf pack attacking soldiers. The numbers were much fewer now but there were whispers. The Stark girl was rumoured to be a warg and Jon had seen enough to know it was not mere rumour. There was a time when that knowledge would have had him contemplating her end. Now he simply found it useful.

 

They were only three days from Stone Hedge when Aegon received a visitor. He was a flamboyant man and strangely dressed. He was tall and gaunt and introduced himself as Tycho Nestoris, an emissary from the Iron Bank of Braavos.

 

“I have come to treat with His Grace.”

 

Connington insisted on staying even after the banker made a courteous remark about the matter he needed to discuss being delicate and his business being with the claimant to the Iron Throne. Aegon was polite to the banker even though he looked a little bewildered.  _Surely he is wondering at the timing_   _just as I am._  They found out that the Iron Throne had ceased repayment of debt under Tommen’s reign. It seemed strange that the bank did not try to treat with Aegon earlier. 

 

 _They waited until it was certain that they had no choice_.

 

Jon swallowed his fury as the banker calmly announced that once Aegon took the throne he would inherit all debt owed. Aegon’s reaction was not so controlled. The prince did not suppress his rage at having to repay the debt of the Baratheon and Lannister usurpers if he wished to have the gold needed to govern the realm. It was in the middle of his angry outburst that Arya Stark swept into the tent almost silently. She did not look herself. Connington faltered a moment but Aegon saw through the mummer’s tricks.

 

“Arya,” he said, sounding flustered. “I was not expecting you.”

 

“I am displeased Your Grace,” she said in a light tone but Connington suspected she meant what she said. “You cannot meet with Braavosi without me.”

 

The banker looked at the new arrival expectantly. Aegon was still grappling his anger and introduced her through clearly gritted teeth.

 

“This is Her Grace Arya Stark, Queen of the North.”

 

The Stark girl proceeded to speak briefly in Braavosi before sitting by Aegon’s side. Connington saw her touch his arm and the prince’s expression softened, even offering her a smile. He still shot the banker a dark look.

 

Tycho Nestoris also smiled at Arya and reverted back to the common tongue. “How does a Northern noblewoman learn the tongue of Braavos?” he asked pleasantly.

 

There was a flash of teeth under the hood which might have passed for a smile though Jon was certain it was not genuine. “I lived there for a time.”

 

The conversation returned to the matter of Aegon being required to assume Robert and Tommen’s debts. Connington saw Arya looking at each person in the room as they conversed. She showed no emotion. Aegon was clearly trying to keep his temper in check now but the banker was not helping matters. Despite the appearance of courtesy the man was being rather difficult and looked to be trying to take advantage of Aegon’s inexperience.

 

They swallowed down the injustice of having to pay the debt but the terms for any new debt were poor to say the least. Connington finally had enough.

 

“Perhaps we can resume our negotiations after the dragons arrive.”

 

He saw Aegon look startled. Tycho took it ill.

 

“I do hope that is a poor jest my lord. We Braavosi do not take kindly to threats of dragons and we do not make good enemies.”

  
There was a tense silence in which Connington saw something change in Arya’s expression. Her hand brushed Aegon’s arm and when they looked at each other the prince spoke up.

 

“Do not fear, Lord Connington was merely vexed.”

 

The banker’s demeanour remained chilly even though he dipped his head to acknowledge Aegon’s words. Connington was distracted by a movement out of the corner of his eye and saw that Arya was playing with a coin. It rolled through her fingers as though it was an extension of her arm. When it abruptly fell from her fingers to roll in front of the banker Aegon laughed although it sounded a little forced.

 

“You are not usually so clumsy.”

 

Arya smiled sweetly. “I’m sure our guest does not mind. Bankers are used to handling coins after all.”

 

Connington looked at the banker. He was studying the coin and his eyes flicked to the Stark girl’s face. The expression he wore gave Jon pause. He was suddenly certain that dropping the coin was no accident. It looked harmless enough. It was only a worn small black iron coin.

 

“My lady?” he asked questioningly.

 

Arya Stark smiled again but there was no warmth in it. “You need not fear dragonflame.” She looked down and plucked at a thread on her cloak. “ _Valar Morghulis_.”

 

The banker nodded but he looked a little pale. “ _Valar dohaeris_.”

 

The remainder of the negotiations went much more smoothly. Aegon was given much less difficulty and Arya remained silent until they were finished. Connington still was not happy with some of the terms but he supposed apart from the necessity of taking on the debt from Robert and Tommen that it was fair. The Banker rose to take his leave and paused to speak with the girl on his way out. They spoke in lowered voices in Braavosi.

 

Aegon walked out with the banker and Jon took the moment alone with the girl.

 

“What was that with the coin?”

 

She raised her chin defiantly and her eyes glittered under the hood of the cloak. “I wanted to help. I understood what he said of Braavos to be a threat. I wanted him to know that I knew and have him know that he did not hold all the power.“ She rose and left him, making no sound as she walked.

 

Jon watched her leave wondering exactly how many more times the girl would surprise him. He sighed heavily as he stood to make his way out to join Aegon. The banker was leaving but Jon heard him speak of the ironborn threatening the citadel. He stood with Aegon to watch the man go.

 

“The last thing he told me was that the Iron Bank was glad to be of service.” Aegon said quietly.

 

Connington watched the banker fading into the distance. “Yes, he did.”

 

“I do not need Arya’s lessons to know he was lying.” Aegon frowned.

 

 _Neither do I._  The contract was written however and Aegon had signed. They would have the gold needed to govern when Aegon took the Iron Throne.  _The Iron Bank will also have its due_.

 

 


	61. Chapter 61

**Chapter 61**

Arya sat in her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. She dragged the furs up around her but she did not really need them. A brazier had been lit in her tent and the heat it generated was almost uncomfortably warm. She was of the North and she did not feel the cold that much. It had been no use saying that though, the brazier had been lit regardless.

 

She did not think she would sleep well. The banker had asked questions of her, he wanted to know why a servant of the House of Black and White was aiding one of the Targaryens. Arya had not corrected him and she hoped it would not cause trouble, especially with the assassin seeking her so recently. The banker’s threat had made her angry. She did the one thing she could think of. In doing so she had figured out that the Braavosi did not like the Targaryens. It made her wonder why the banker had come.

 

A raven squawked and flapped outside the tent. The bird had stayed close to her ever since they crossed the Trident **.**  It liked to mimic words people said but Arya had been unimpressed when one of its favourite words became Queen. She had enough of people calling her that, she did not need a bird doing it too.

 

The men laughed at the bird and made japes about its presence. Arya kept silent, thinking of her new secret. She still slipped into Nymeria’s skin often, especially now that the direwolf was not as close to her but she had also seen through the raven’s eyes now more than once. She did not know how it had happened and it had only been for a second each time. Now it seemed that she and the bird were more connected. It was like what had happened with the cat in Braavos. She had told no one of the cat then and she told no one of the bird now.

 

_This is different though, it does not feel the same. I feel more than just the bird when I see through its eyes._

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps entering the tent. Aegon’s voice called out to her hesitantly. He stopped still when he saw her in bed.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I did not know you had already retired.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I keep you awake often enough. What is it?”

 

He hesitated and did not come closer until she got annoyed and told him to sit on the stool by her bed. When he took his seat Arya shifted to look at him as he spoke. His eyes flicked over her briefly then he looked away.

 

“Lord Connington told me you did something to the banker. I did notice that he changed. I had begun to think he was going to make things very difficult.”

 

Aegon was behaving strangely. He ran his hand through his hair and began to inspect the calluses on his fingers. Arya squirmed a little closer.

 

“I lied a little,” she confessed. “The way he was speaking to you made me angry. I let him think I was still with the House of Black and White. That was what the coin meant.”

 

“Oh,” he smiled and kept looking at his fingers. “Thank you for doing that.”

 

She tried to suppress a frown. He was being so formal. Ever since she had told him of her conversation with the faceless man they had been friendly. It had been as it was at Storm’s End. Aegon was affectionate to her when they were alone or with Duck and it had been comfortable. It was not comfortable now.

 

“Is something wrong Aegon?”

 

Arya tried to think of what had passed during the day. He had seemed happy to see her when she joined him in the meeting with the banker.  _Did I do something wrong?_  She reached out to him but her timing was bad. He was beginning to move away. As he stood his eyes roamed over her and she felt her pulse quicken. It was too warm with the brazier to stay dressed to sleep and Arya was only wearing a linen shift. When she had moved in bed the furs slipped. 

 

_He wants me._

 

Aegon shook his head and began to step away. “I should go. You need sleep and somebody might see me and think I am...”

 

Arya lunged towards him, catching his wrist. He looked at her hand in surprise.

 

“Cara is visiting her lover,” she blurted, earning a brief grin from him. “My uncle is with the outriders talking about a man on a black horse who looks as though he is following us. He will not come here and everybody else thinks I am trying to sleep. You don’t have to leave.”

 

Aegon returned to the stool and she settled back on the bed. The awkwardness did not go away as he spoke of things which did not really matter and continued his efforts not to look at her. Arya suddenly remembered what she had said to him. She had accused him of wanting to use her when she was trying to drive him away.  _He is trying to prove that he is not like that_. She felt a surge of guilt and grabbed for his wrist again, tugging at him to try and bring him closer.

 

“I didn’t mean it Aegon,” she blurted. “You don’t have to pretend that you are Baelor the Blessed if you want to fuck me.”

 

For a moment he just looked at her in stunned silence. The silence was followed by him laughing and Arya flushed. She let go of his wrist, feeling embarrassed and grabbed for the furs to pull them around her. She turned her face away until she felt his weight on the bed and his breath tickled her neck. He took hold of the furs and pulled them from her grasp before brushing her hair back from her ear.

 

“You have such a way with words,” he whispered.

 

Aegon pressed a small kiss on her jaw before burying his face in her hair. One arm circled around her, his hand splayed across her stomach while the other had caught the bottom of her shift. All he did was rest his hand on her thigh but the heat from his touch was almost unbearable. She knew he must have felt it too because he sighed into her hair and moved his hand up to her hip. His lips grazed her temple before moving to her neck. Arya could not suppress a whine when his tongue flicked out and caught a sensitive spot they both knew she liked.

 

“I’ve missed this,” he said, his voice husky but he hesitated.

 

Arya squirmed so that she could face him and cupped his face in her hands. His eyes were dark with desire as his gaze wandered up her body but she could also see something else. Aegon was a confident man despite the doubts he shared with her about ruling. She had not realised the power she held over him, not really. Arya was the one who usually feared rejection but she could see the worry he still felt and she wanted to remove it.

 

She kissed him hard and he responded eagerly, his tongue brushing her bottom lip before she gave him entry to her mouth. He tasted of something sweet and she pulled back, licking her lips and trying to figure out what it was.

 

“What have you been eating?” she asked him.

 

“Candied ginger,” he replied with a smile, fingering the straps on her shift. “It was a gift. I was going to bring you some.”

 

“I would like that,” she whispered as she helped him pull the shift over her head. He looked at her for a moment in that way that made her feel as though she really was beautiful. She didn’t want to interrupt it but she wanted to feel him against her. “You are wearing too many clothes.”

 

He chuckled and quickly shed the layers he wore. “It is too hot in here to wear these anyway,” he pronounced as he tossed them out of the way, his breeches the only clothing left between them.

 

Arya flung her arms around his neck and arched into him as he gripped her waist to pull her closer. He kissed her hungrily, his hands running up and down her back. When she wriggled into his lap his grip tightened, closing the space between them so that her breasts were pressed against his chest. He all but panted her name and Arya could feel him hard against her hip as she shifted in his grasp.

 

While he kept kissing her she snaked her hand down between them tracing the muscles of his stomach before her fingers found the laces on his breeches. His intake of breath made her smile. When the laces gave way and she pushed her hand inside it he moaned softly and nuzzled at her neck, his breathing coming faster the longer she stroked him. She didn’t stop until he got carried away and bit her a little too hard.

 

He murmured an apology and she silenced him with a kiss, letting him push her onto her back. She closed her eyes and waited, listening to his movements and making sure she could hear nothing coming from outside before she felt him climb over her. His lips brushed hers as his fingers began their familiar exploration. Arya bit her lip as he began to kiss his way down her body.

 

“Don’t mark me anymore,” she said softly. “I will have to hide it from Cara.”

 

His calloused fingers brushed over her belly and she trembled and looked down at him. He was looking up at her, a small smile on his face and his eyes glinting with amusement.

 

“I will try.”

 

“Do more than try,” she retorted back.

 

She clutched the sheet, arching her back and biting her lip even harder when he began to focus his attention on her breasts. His fingers traced patterns lower and lower until he ran his hand from her knee along her inner thigh agonisingly slowly, his touch light as a feather. Biting her lip was no longer enough and Arya moaned. She was grateful when he climbed back over her, his mouth hot on hers as their hips aligned and they finally became one.

 

He held her as he moved inside her, his hand on her thigh as her legs wrapped snugly around his hips. “You feel so good,” he whispered. “You always feel so good.” His lips barely left hers, helping to silence her. She wound her fingers through his silvery hair as her other hand clawed at his back, trying to keep him close. His violet eyes locked on hers and did not waver as he quickened his pace, their kisses becoming shorter and more desperate. Her whole world shrunk to Aegon and her need for him and she clutched him to her as her peak brought on his.

 

They remained there, a mess of tangled limbs and sweat while they caught their breath. Aegon smiled at her and brushed his nose against hers before catching her hand and pressing his lips to her palm. It seemed like no time before he rolled onto his side and she had to move to rest her head against his chest. His fingers began to comb through her hair and she could hear his steady heartbeat.

 

It was just beginning to lull her to sleep when his voice roused her.

 

“Have you ever thought of wearing scale armour instead?”

 

Arya was baffled. Aegon paused, waiting for her answer. “You are asking me this now?” she said, annoyed.

 

She shifted to look into his face and he gave her a lopsided cheeky grin. “I think I’d like you in scale.”

 

Arya snorted. “You have me wearing nothing right now. You should be pleased enough with that.”

 

He was not deterred and pressed on. “So, have you ever thought about it?” His fingers began tracing down her spine and it made her shiver a little. “The armourers would be happy to make it for you. You could  _look_  like a warrior queen, like Visenya.”

 

Arya was trying to decide whether to tell him off for the comparison but something in his expression stopped her. He was not just being playful, he was at least partly earnest. She remembered him asking her to marry him and the talk of the first Aegon. The dragons coming had raised a lot of interest in history.  _Visenya was not just Aegon’s sister, she was his wife_.

 

“I’m not Targaryen,” she said gently. “The North is wool, leather and ringmail.”

 

He sighed and his lips brushed the top of her head. “It is a shame. If you wore scale you could even choose the colour.”

 

This time she knew he was teasing. She gave him a gentle shove. “Do I strike you as someone who cares about the colour of my armour? You can be so stupid sometimes.”

 

He laughed. “So you keep telling me.”

 

She settled back down, enjoying the peace for a little. His playful teasing stayed with her. At least Aegon talked with her about alternative forms of armour. She still had men who would mock her for not wearing a dress. It happened far less often now but it still happened. Arya got frustrated by people who tried to change her.

 

Aegon was just letting her know in a less than subtle way that he wanted her again when the raven squawked outside.  _That bird should be sleeping._ Arya tensed and grabbed for her shift, wrenching it over her head.  A scene flashed before here, so sharp and vivid that she knew she had seen a figure approaching her tent through the bird’s eyes. They were quick and quiet, cloaked and moving with stealth. Arya reached for the blades she had hidden near her bed.

 

Aegon had scrambled from the bed and was looking at her with wide eyes as he yanked his breeches back on. He was not quick enough and the intruder had entered the tent. They did not identify themselves and Arya was quick to shift to the offensive. The struggle was fierce. Arya managed to rip the hood back to reveal a beautiful woman with black hair and dark eyes but even though Arya was quick her foe had managed to draw a dagger to match hers. They ducked and dodged each other then there was a mad grapple during which the woman tried to trip Arya but she sidestepped it.  _She is quick but I am quicker._  She read the next move before it happened and had her blade at her opponent’s throat.

 

“Who sent you?” she hissed.

 

The woman burst out laughing and put her hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.

 

“You drew first. I just wanted to see how well you could use it. I am glad neither of us was trying to shed blood. I don’t think cousin Aegon would have been pleased.”

 

 _Cousin Aegon_.  Arya lowered the blade and shot a glance at him. He was lacing his breeches and looking at the visitor with a curious albeit still worried expression.

 

“Which one are you?” he asked. “I’ve met Elia, I can see the resemblance.”

 

“They call me Lady Nym, cousin,” she smirked and Arya realised she was looking at the shift Arya wore. In her haste Arya had put it on backwards. “My father would have been most impressed with your choice of paramour, even if she  _is_  a Stark.”

 

Arya felt embarrassed and tried to cover it, grabbing a cloak to wrap around herself. Aegon however was displeased. He thrust his tunic over his head and looked at Lady Nym with a scowl.

 

“Don’t call her that.”

 

“I suppose I should call her Your Grace then.”

 

Arya had heard a little about Nymeria Sand.  _She is a Dornish princess, even if she is bastard born_. It did not feel right to insist on titles. “If you want to,” Arya said slowly.

 

“I wanted to test whether the tales about you were true.” Nymeria said in an airy tone. “I see they are. I suppose I also know now why the wolf queen won’t marry.” Arya hid her reaction but Aegon did not. His unhappiness was clearly visible.

 

“Arya won’t marry  _anybody_ ,” he said stiffly.

 

She had wondered at his objection to her being called his paramour. _He still wants me to be his bride._ She wanted to scold him for being so careless. Nymeria looked at him with a certain understanding but thankfully the Dornishwoman did not comment on it. “I went to your tent first,” she said to Aegon in a pleasant voice. “When you were not there I thought I would pay a visit to the mysterious Arya Stark. When Lord Connington tried to dissuade me I became rather more determined and thought I would see what he was trying to hide.”

 

“He did not know,” Arya said calmly. “He probably thought you would find me teaching Aegon how to see lies.”

 

Aegon was pulling his boots on and he paused and gave a snort. “That is true. He always looks as though he caught us in bed when he sees that.”

 

Nymeria Sand was looking at them curiously but she did not ask what they were talking about.

 

“Lady Nym,” Arya began, hating the question she had to ask “the men do not know about us.”

 

Nymeria smiled. “You want me to keep quiet.”

 

Aegon had finished pulling his boots on and now moved to Arya’s side. She could see the tension in his body. “Please cousin.”

 

There was a pause before the Lady Nym finally replied in the sweetest tone. “Of course, I can keep a secret. I am here on another mission. Our uncle sent me.” She gave Arya a sharp look.

 

“Where is the direwolf?”

 

Arya wondered what stories she had heard. “Nymeria is hunting with other wolves.”

 

Lady Nym let loose with a peal of laughter. “You named the direwolf after the Rhoynish warrior queen? That is just lovely that I share my name with something almost as dangerous as I am.”

 

Arya took a deep breath and kept her face still. She was already sure Nymeria Sand was going to be unpredictable but her sweet tone did not fool Arya.

 

“You were in Kings Landing,” Aegon said.

 

“I was,” Lady Nym replied. She glanced at Arya. “Did you know Cersei is even more anxious about the little wolf queen than she is about you dear cousin? She has been foaming at the mouth for the news of her death for some time now.”

 

Arya sat on a stool and inspected her blade to try and keep her mind calm.  _It needs to be sharpened again_. “Cersei should be worried,” she said, taking the effort to keep her voice level. “If I did not have other duties she would be dead already.”

 

Aegon moved close again and put his hand on her arm. “It will be done.” She looked up at him and then at Lady Nym. The Dornishwoman had a gleam in her eye and Arya realised she was genuinely pleased.

 

“I came because my uncle asked me to but I am glad to be here. Lannisters murdered my father, my Aunt and my little cousin Rhaenys. My uncle waited too long. I want my vengeance.”

 

 _She sounds like me_. “Why did you not kill her while you were there?”  _That is what I would have done._

 

Nymeria tossed her braid. “I had duties too.” She turned to Aegon. “Come with me cousin, we have much to speak of.”

 

Aegon left with her, casting a wistful glance over his shoulder at Arya as he exited the tent.

 

*

Arya rose early the next morning. When the Blackfish came to her tent he informed her that the man on the black horse was still being sighted but he was eluding them when they approached. She broke her fast with Duck. It was a habit she had begun to fall into. Now that he had resumed his Kingsguard duties she saw him less. They talked a little during the march but it was not the same. The Northmen and the She-Bear did not object to his presence in her tent after his time spent in the North. The men even laughed along at his stories.

 

She knew she fussed over him and she knew she was not meant to but he was her friend. Arya heard much more than she was meant to. She knew what was being said of her by some of Aegon’s men and Duck was her defender. He was loyal to Aegon first but that had not stopped him being loyal to her too. He knew she had not asked to be queen and she saw it irked him when people judged her for taking the crown. It was because of their friendship that she had tolerated his nickname for her. He was the only one allowed to call her little queen.

 

Arya still remembered what he had said to her back when he was staying in Winterfell.

 

“Nobody has ever looked after me the way you do.”

 

It had made her feel sad. She hadn’t done much, just tried to make sure he was comfortable. The North had been an adjustment for him.

 

They barely finished eating before a messenger came to ask for them to attend a meeting. Arya stopped to see the maester on the way. She gave him letters to be sent to Lord Wyman Manderly and Rickon. Her advisors accompanied her to the gathering along with Duck. She had shared with them the news that Nymeria Sand was in the camp. She kept the circumstances how she had met the Sand Snake to herself.

 

The gathering was larger than usual. Arya could see that Aegon did not wear his usual smile. He looked drawn and tired. Nymeria Sand had a seat close by him and she was watching everybody closely. Lord Connington began the meeting by introducing her. He then proceeded to share news she had brought of Kings Landing.

 

Arya listened and watched but sensed that most of it was either already known, already suspected or not very important. Kings Landing feared the attack. Their preparations would not withstand the combined forces Aegon had at his disposal. The small council was ineffectual. It was known that Cersei and Myrcella disagreed on the rule. Cersei had made enemies of almost all the Lannisters former allies. All of these pieces of information did not overly interest Arya. Even if she had not known Connington she would have been able to tell straight away that he was angry about something. It was clear in the way he held his shoulders and the downturn in his mouth.

 

Lady Nym knew something of the defences of the city. Arya knew that was important but she wanted to know what they were keeping back. They called on Arya and she told them of her letter sent that morning.

 

“I wrote to Lord Manderly. Ser Wylis said their warships have been ready for some time. I do not expect he will refuse my request for aid.”

 

Ser Wylis had received a raven from his father. It had been brought by messenger from the Twins after he heard of the North crowning Arya and Aegon’s acceptance of it. Lord Wyman was exceedingly pleased. He reported that Rickon was not but things seemed to be reasonably peaceful at Winterfell nonetheless.

 

They asked Arya how many warships there were. When the answer given was almost fifty she heard them murmuring approval. Arya did not care about their approval. She wanted to know what Connington, Aegon and Nymeria were holding back. Aegon only looked at her twice and when he did she knew whatever was coming was going to be bad.

 

Lord Connington began to talk about the guard around the queens, Cersei and Myrcella both. Arya tried to hide her reaction when he said Ser Meryn was still a member of the Kingsguard.  _Others died, why couldn’t he be one of them_? He spoke of Jaime Lannister being missing and most other members reportedly being rather poor specimens. When he began to speak of Ser Robert Strong Arya paid more attention.

 

Tales had spread of Ser Robert. Arya had heard of him before she even came to Westeros. He was Queen Cersei’s champion when she was on trial. Arya had been angry when he won. She had been so hopeful that her prayer would be answered and that Cersei would be no more. After the trial she did not hear anything else of Ser Robert. There was clearly something to it. Lady Nym was looking murderous, Aegon had tensed and Lord Connington’s words were coming out through gritted teeth.

 

“It is believed that Ser Robert Strong is Gregor Clegane.”

 

Arya was still as a statue for half a dozen heartbeats.  _He is dead, it can’t be right_. The men around her were muttering darkly. She looked at Aegon and he was looking back at her.  _He believes it._  Arya shot to her feet and ignored her uncle’s startled expression. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.  _Calm as still water._  She heard Nymeria Sand speaking.

 

“The Lannisters played us false,” she said, her words bitter and her gaze locked on Arya. “They sent a skull to Dorne and claimed it was justice. My uncle thought the blood debt to be paid. I know my father poisoned Clegane. He should not have survived and yet this Robert Strong hides behind a helm. I hear he does not eat and does not sleep. He hides his face so that he can hide their lies.”

 

Arya gripped her stool until her knuckles turned white.

 

“No,” she cried. “He is dead. He has to be!”

 

They all looked at her as though she was hysterical. They didn’t understand. Everybody knew Ser Gregor was dead. If he was alive then... Lord Beric she could understand and her mother too. They were good before they died but Gregor Clegane was an evil man. He should be burning in hell. Arya could not stay there any longer. She whirled around and as her men began to protest and try to stop her she spun away from them.

 

She ran through the camp not knowing where she was headed at first. When she was alone she stopped to think. It was not long before she heard running footsteps. It was Aegon with her uncle trailing behind him.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, putting his hand on her arm. “I wanted to tell you first but Lord Connington had already called the meeting and I could not get away.”

 

Ser Brynden drew along her other side and put his hand on her shoulder. His craggy face was full of concern.

 

“Is there something you have not told us?”

 

Arya tried to find the words but Aegon beat her to it. He related what she had told him of her time as one of Ser Gregor’s captives. The Blackfish looked suitably horrified.

 

“He was meant to be dead,” Arya spat. “I was glad when I heard he was dead.”

 

“You were not the only one,” Aegon said quietly.

 

 _Ser Gregor killed his family_. Arya touched her fingers to his before realising and pulling back. She darted a glance at her uncle. He seemed too distracted by the news about the Mountain to care. Others were beginning to walk in their direction and Arya realised the meeting must have finished. She knew what she had to do.

 

“I need to be alone.”

 

Aegon looked like he was going to protest and she shook her head.

 

“You won’t get long,” Ser Brynden said. “The march will resume as soon as everybody is organised.”

 

Arya did not need long. She darted away from them with a focused mission this time. Thoros was standing by a recently dismantled tent preparing for their departure. He looked surprised to see her.

 

“Would R’hllor raise Ser Gregor?” she blurted.

 

Thoros looked troubled. “Gregor Clegane is dead child.”

 

Arya shook her head. “They say he isn’t. They are saying he is Robert Strong. Is it possible?”

 

Thoros looked thoughtful. “I do not think so. I have not heard of a red priest in King’s Landing.” He sighed. “This is grave news. I cannot believe R’hllor would raise a soul such as his. These are darker forces at work and we have reason to fear.”

 

“If he is alive we will kill him,” Arya said determinedly.

 

“You should not be so eager to court death,” Thoros told her in a disapproving voice. “Your Lord Father would not wish it.”

 

“My Lord father died,” Arya said flatly “and he sent you and Lord Beric to kill Ser Gregor.”

 

She left Thoros and joined her men in packing up to begin travelling. She was not as talkative as usual when she took her place in the host. Her uncle had joined the outriders but her personal guards were staying close. Arya knew by the looks on their faces that they had been told. She did her best to pretend as though nothing was the matter. It was a relief when Nymeria Sand caused a disruption amongst Aegon’s guards and the focus was shifted.

 

Arya was not sure what the Dornishwoman had done but she heard the laughter. Lady Nym drew alongside Arya and Arya admired her horse. It was a sand steed, not well suited for riding through winter snows but Arya still felt envious.  _He must be so fast._ She glanced at Nymeria and saw the woman looking at her curiously.

 

“You make me think a little of my sisters. I did not expect that.”

 

Arya did not know how to answer her.  _I have a sister too_. She wondered what Sansa was doing right now. They were completely different people even though they shared blood. From what Arya had heard the Sand Snakes were all fiery. They had more in common with each other than just blood.

 

“My sister Tyene may join us,” Lady Nym continued. “She is... busy right now but our time is near.”

 

The She-Bear shot Nymeria a distrustful look and distracted Arya for a time. When Arya looked back over at Lady Nym she was close by Aegon. She watched her until the woman caught her looking.  _She would be a better guard than most of his others if she truly is on his side._

 

They were closing in on Riverrun. When it was time to make camp Arya could almost see the castle in the distance. Her uncle was not so pleased as he might have been about it. He told her the Lannisters might kill her Uncle Edmure if they attacked the castle.

 

“Should we leave it then?” she asked.

 

“Yes but not for that reason child,” he replied. When he realised by her silence that she was confused he explained. “They will kill him anyway. It may have already been done. The reason we should not assault Riverrun is because thousands will die. It is too well defended.”

 

Arya wanted to protest. “It is your home,” she said in dismay. “It is where mother grew up.”

 

Ser Brynden put his arm around her and gave her one of his brightest smiles, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “You are a sweet child for all your insistence on vengeance. It is not like the Dreadfort, the rivers will stop us gaining access. There are other ways to take the castle back. The prince must take the Iron Throne.”

 

She knew he was right. “Aegon will give you Riverrun. You can go home after he takes the throne.”

 

He nodded. “If Edmure is still alive they will exchange him for other prisoners. That is how war works.”

 

Arya went through her usual routine of meeting with her advisors while the camp was being assembled. The Umbers were itching for a fight and had been for some time. They were not impressed with leaving a castle in enemy hands. The Glovers were more reasonable. Most of the leading men agreed to continue on to Pinkmaiden. Ser Marq Piper needed to return to the castle, even if only temporarily. His father needed to see he was safe and well.

 

They quickly discussed the other Riverlands Houses. It was decided that a contingent of men should be sent to Raventree Hall and Seagard to treat with the Blackwoods and Mallisters. The idea was not a new one but the time had come for action to be taken. Arya was torn over not being able to go herself and struggling to listen to too many suggestions being thrown at her. Before she could make sense of who was volunteering and who might be a good choice she heard alarmed shouting and saw dozens of horses running loose through the not yet secured camp.

 

The Blackfish cursed more than Arya had ever heard from him before. All around her men were looking confused. The air was pierced by the shrieks of dying horses and still more were scattering through the camp. Arya set off at a run before they could stop her. It was a scene of chaos.  _Something is wrong._  She knew she had to find Aegon.

 

Nobody paid much attention to her as she ran past them, her heart feeling as though it was in her throat. Everybody was distracted with trying to round up the horses. Arya tried to breathe and to calm herself.  _Fear cuts deeper than swords._ Horses were still running past her. She didn’t understand it. The first thing the men did was secure the horse lines. Aegon’s pavilion was in view, only half erected and Arya could hear Connington shouting orders. In the middle of it Aegon was arguing with Duck who had drawn his sword.

 

 _He won’t stay out of it_  she realised with dismay  _he is too stubborn._

 

Through the mess of confusion came a man mounted on a bay stallion. He was huge and armoured in heavy white plate. It was heavily dented where he had clearly taken blows but it did not seem to have affected him. A white cloak streamed from his shoulders and Arya knew who it was.  _This is_   _Ser Robert Strong._ The greatsword in his hand ran red with blood and in his wake was a trail of men who had tried to stop him, all dead or dying. While Arya was looking at him two more men stumbled into his path. His horse did for one and the other was sliced from navel to breastbone.

 

Many of the men were only lightly armoured, an attack was not anticipated. Of those who were wearing plate, the lack of a helm or gorget was their undoing.  _He is only one man_  she thought to herself.  _How can one man beat so many?_  They might have stood a better chance against him if mounted but the horses were far away or loose.

 

While Arya kept drawing closer to Aegon she saw another man swing at the knight. She wanted to cheer as the sword hit Ser Robert in the chest but the knight did not seem to feel it. He wasn’t even unhorsed. It slowed him down but that was all and in the end another man was dead. The blow that felled him took his head clean off.

 

Arya had received the best of training but she was not stupid. She was better at stealth. Her training allowed her to kill men in their tents, in castles, at dinner, in their beds. It was easy if they weren’t aware. She could also kill in combat but not something like this. Not a man on a horse in steel from head to toe, not  _this_  man. She was not sure he even  _could_  be killed.

 

_I cannot fight that._

 

She screamed to Aegon as the knight approached him and she saw the fear in his face as he spotted her. He shook his head in horror and she could hear him tell her to run. The sound of pounding hooves behind her had Arya glancing over her shoulder and what she saw made things worse. Another man on a black horse was approaching riding fast. He was almost as big as the knight and armoured too and Arya could see he was well armed. He was headed straight for her.

 

_He is the man who has been following us._

                                             

She turned back to Aegon and saw men fan out in front of him. They were trying to help him retreat but there was nowhere to go. He would not be able to outrun the man on the horse. Connington’s voice rang out.

 

“Protect the Prince.”

 

The man on the black horse drew closer and Arya felt a spark of recognition.  _It can’t be him, he’s dead._  She remembered another battle, men dying in tents, that song, Grey Wind howling and a man on a black courser just like this one. Mother and Robb died but she survived.  _The horse is Stranger._

 

Arya edged closer to Aegon. It was all happening as if in slow motion. The bay stallion was still coming but the man on Stranger was going to get to them first. She was dumbstruck when he stopped and held his hand out to her. His horse wheeled around her, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood in the air.  _He isn’t here to kill us._  Arya dodged the offered hand and heard a familiar voice cursing, growling and recognisable even from under a plain helm.

 

“Still a stupid little wolf bitch. Do I have to hit you with the flat of an axe again?”

 

 _It is him_. He was still trying to make her leave and he was blocking her view of Aegon. Arya screamed at him to go to Aegon. He shouted more curses at her before wheeling Stranger around and doing just that.

 

He could not get there in time. Arya felt something try to break inside her as she saw the knight on the bay horse sheathe his sword through Duck’s throat. She howled as his body fell to the ground. His snowy white cloak that he was so proud of was stained red with his life’s blood. He was Aegon’s last protector. While she had been distracted by Sandor, Ser Robert had killed the rest. Aegon was retreating but Arya could see blood pouring down his face. The grief and shock was etched in his features and his gaze was fixed on Duck. Lord Connington was unarmed for some reason and trying to urge Aegon to move faster. Other men were making futile attempts to stop the mounted knight but all it did was slow him down.

 

Arya’s fear melted away and was replaced with rage. She heard the wolves before she saw them.  _Nymeria is coming_. The direwolf leapt at the rear of the bay stallion just as Sandor Clegane put himself between Aegon and what used to be his brother. Stranger was the better horse even if the other had not been injured. Nymeria lunged at the bay again as Sandor turned aside a blow from the greatsword. The horse began to crumple and Sandor finished the job.

 

Once the knight was on the ground his advantage was lessened. Sandor leapt from Stranger’s back. She could hear Aegon yelling to her but he sounded far away.  _He will be safe now_.  _He has to be._ The Mountain had fallen heavily when his horse fell but he found his feet. Sandor was better than he had been in the inn when he had fought Polliver.  _He isn’t drunk this time_. Ser Robert swung blow after blow at Sandor but Sandor hammered back at him just as fiercely.

 

Now that he did not have the advantage of being on horseback Arya made her move. She heard Sandor cursing her for being a fool as she drew the bravo blade she wore at her hip. Ser Robert appeared to be distracted by Sandor but looks were deceiving. As soon as Arya moved within range he swung at her. Arya had the advantage of speed but Ser Robert had superior reach. She only barely evaded the greatsword. She could hear Nymeria growling and the direwolf snapped at the knight’s feet. He paid her no notice.

 

No sooner had she ducked the first swing of the greatsword then Ser Robert was swinging at her again. He moved faster than Arya had expected. He paid little regard to Sandor raining a blow to the back of him. The heavy plate prevented damage. One particularly vicious cut knocked the knight off balance but he kept coming for Arya. She suddenly realised what was happening. He was not merely attacking her because she was an obstacle,  _he was after her._  Arya began to back away as Ser Robert continued his brutal attempts to kill her. She could hear Aegon still. He was screaming to her. Sandor managed to land a blow in the joints of the heavy plate but instead of the sword coming away red with blood, it was black and unnatural.  _He really is dead_.

 

 “Get out of here she-wolf,” Sandor bellowed.

 

Arya was torn between wanting to go and being determined to stay.  _I’m not a little girl any more, I’ve killed lots of people._  Nymeria still growled in front of her but the direwolf did not attack Ser Robert. Men ran to join them and Arya saw that some of the best Northern warriors had come to assist. Her uncle’s voice sounded almost harsh in her ear as he tried to pull her away, turning the blows from the greatsword with his own sword. She heard Thoros speaking in the midst of it too.

 

Somebody swung a Morningstar while Ser Robert was distracted and his helm bore the brunt of the impact. The steel crumpled under the blow and she heard a string of curses from all the men followed by Sandor shouting “Seven bloody hells!” The helm had given way and left nothing behind. It had been empty. Nymeria Sand had said that a skull was sent to Dorne. She labelled it a lie but it wasn’t.

 

_He has no head._

Arya glanced at Thoros and remembered the conversation she had with him.  _R’hllor cannot raise a man without a head_. More men were falling, even with armour and Sandor had leapt into the fray again.  _They won’t be able to kill him._ Arya remembered Lord Beric and her mother, they had not been like this. They were a different sort of walking dead person.

 

There was a flap of wings near Arya’s head and she realised it was the raven. Her uncle was still trying to urge her away but the bird was shrieking, demanding attention. “Fire” it cried. “Fire, Fire.”

 

She looked around at all the bodies as she barely dodged another vicious slash aimed at her head. Her sword was knocked from her hand and she tried not to panic as she felt pain radiate up her wrist. She recalled what Jon had told her of the creatures beyond the Wall. They were walking dead men too and they could not be killed. They were only beaten by one thing.

 

“Fire,” she shouted out. Her uncle was still trying to make her leave but she resisted. “You need to burn him.”

 

She pulled out of Ser Brynden’s grasp, rolling across the ground and picking up a discarded sword. It was bigger than what she was used to, a longsword but her own blade had dropped too far away for her to reach it. She called to Thoros. “He has to burn.”

 

Nymeria was still between Arya and Ser Robert and the other wolves, her pack had joined them and were circling. They had been attracted by the smell of the blood and she could see some of them fighting over the corpses. She understood why Nymeria held back from attacking the knight after one wolf leapt forward and after biting Ser Robert in one of the few weak points in his armour fell back on its haunches and whimpered.  _His blood is poisoned._

Arya tossed the sword to Thoros and he ran the blade along his hand, muttering words in valyrian. The sword took fire just as it had all those years ago in the Hollow Hill. Thoros charged forward and the sword rang against the plate of Ser Robert’s armour. Arya could read the fear in Sandor’s body language as he saw the flames.

 

“Fuck you Thoros,” he growled. “He’s mine.”

 

Arya darted forwards again into the fray. She ducked and evaded grasping hands though she did wear an unintentional blow to her face which had her reeling.

 

“He has to burn Sandor,” she shouted “It is the only way.”

 

Thoros had been knocked to his knees and Arya reached for the flaming sword. She took it in her hand but before she could try to use it she saw the huge knight coming for her again. Arya tried to evade the blow but she was dazed and she had no shield. There was a crunch from the glancing blow from a mailed fist and the wind was knocked out of her followed by intense pain. Arya could feel herself falling and things started to go black.

 

“Give me that,” Sandor snarled and she felt the sword being pulled from her grasp.

 

The last thing she saw through her fading vision was the Mountain on fire.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A closing quote for you all from Aegon taken from the second Connington chapter of A Dance with Dragons:
> 
> “Duck will die for me if need be”
> 
> Sad to say I expect he will.


	62. Chapter 62: Aegon | Arya | Bran

**Chapter 62: Aegon | Arya | Bran**

 

**Aegon**

 

They had dragged him behind the half constructed tent. Aegon could barely think. His face throbbed and his arm was bleeding too. He did not know what other injuries he had, right then he did not care. Arya was still out there. He could not see her but he knew she was trying to fight that  _thing. I never should have left her._

 

He made a number of attempts to go back, calling out to Arya. Lord Connington was not capable of stopping him. It appeared that Ser Robert had injured his sword hand quite grievously. Connington held himself back, cradling the hand close to him and giving everybody who approached a death stare. Nymeria Sand however was exceedingly capable. Her dark eyes flashed dangerously when Aegon struggled to free himself from her grip. She all but sat on him.

 

“Do you think she will thank you if you die trying to save her?” she whispered harshly. “Do not be a fool Aegon. If you die all is lost.”

 

 _Everything is about that damned throne._  He stayed there, not out of choice but because Nymeria would not let him go. She was resentful, he could see that. She wanted to be out there as much as he did. Time passed excruciatingly slowly. He heard men cursing, shouting and dying and his heart was pounding in his chest. Nymeria scowled and mopped at the blood on his face.

 

“Who was the man on the black horse?” he asked, hoping she would talk. His mind was conjuring up all kinds of awful images, some involving Duck and he wanted to retch remembering it. The rest involved Arya lying broken at the feet of Gregor Clegane. “Do you know him?”

 

“No,” she said abruptly.

 

“Arya knew him,” he pressed on “at least, it seemed she knew him.”

 

Nymeria sighed but Connington responded instead. “We will find out when we speak with her.”

 

 _He said when not if_. Arya’s voice carried on the wind and he felt a mix of relief and renewed fear. She was still alive for now. Harry Strickland stumbled behind the tent breathing heavily. Aegon fixed him a glare though the look on Connington’s face was much more frightening.

 

“Why aren’t you out there?” he barked.

 

“What is happening?” Aegon demanded.

 

“That mad girl is trying to fight Clegane,” Harry gasped. “He isn’t right, he has no head!”

 

Nymeria tensed as much as Aegon did. She anticipated his renewed struggle and he shouted in frustration again. He turned his anger on Homeless Harry.

 

“You should be out there helping, not hiding here.”

 

Harry was immune to the attack. “The Northmen and that mystery knight are there. There is nothing more I could add. If I die I am of no use.”

 

 _That isn’t true_  Aegon thought spitefully  _if you die the next commander of the Golden Company will be somebody with a spine._  He felt a tightness in his chest remembering Duck again.  _He knew he would die and he fought anyway._  Aegon could see it in his bearing before he fell. He could still see the white cloak turning red and he could hear Arya’s howl, half rage and half grief.

 

Haldon joined them not long afterwards. He met Aegon’s questions with an abrupt shake of his head and promptly began to check his wounds. Aegon brushed him off. Connington was even worse when Haldon wanted to look at his hand. He would not let the Halfmaester touch him. They waited instead for what seemed like an age.

 

The wait ended when they heard the shouting change. The sounds of battle had stopped. Lady Nym stalked around the tent and after just a moment waved for them to follow. Aegon needed no encouragement. He shot forward only to see Arya lying limp in the arms of the large man who had ridden in on the black horse. He froze on the spot, feeling sicker than he had before.

 

“Don’t just fucking stand there,” the man rasped. “Get a maester.”

 

**Arya**

 

It was dark, so dark but Arya could feel warmth too. She could hear the sound of running water and ravens cawing. A boy was on a seat made of weirwood and he wept. She could feel his tears were not of sadness though, they were tears of joy.

 

“Sister,” he said though his lips did not move. “Arya, I have missed you.”

 

“Bran,” she whispered back. “I do not understand.”

 

“You will,” he replied. “You were always quick.”

 

The darkness fled and was replaced by blinding light. She could still hear a raven. Arya blinked and tried to focus. Her vision was blurry, one eye was almost swollen shut and she hurt all over. When she tried to move it was even worse. A maester was leaning over her, one from the Northern army.

 

“You will need to remain still Your Grace.”

 

“Where is Bran?” she asked, confused. It hurt to speak. It hurt to breathe.

 

“There is no Bran here.”

 

Arya blinked again and tried to look around. Her head pained her but she managed to see that she was in a tent. There were many beds and many injured men. The raven was perched by her bed looking at her. It squawked again.

 

She struggled to move once more. Bran had been real, she somehow knew that. She had felt him ever since the first time she had seen through the bird’s eyes. This was the most vivid though, this time the connection was much stronger. She had not been certain before whether her mind was playing tricks on her but now she was sure.  _He is alive and he can feel me too._  She swung to look at the raven again, wincing from the sharp pain in her head.

 

“You really must not move Your Grace. We do not know the extent of your injuries.”

 

Arya muttered curses in Braavosi and heard harsh laughter. She risked another wave of pain to locate the source and saw Sandor Clegane. Without the helm she could see the burns on his face. His mouth twitched as he looked at her.

 

“Did it work?” she asked in a panic.

 

Sandor snorted. “Would we be here if it didn’t?”

 

 _I suppose not._ “You were meant to be dead,” she told him. She tried to decide whether it was a good thing that he wasn’t. The vague memory of Mycah was competing against the image of Sandor fighting against Ser Robert Strong.

 

His mouth twitched again. “I heard the same of you. It almost ended up being true today.”

 

The memories came flooding back and Arya bit her lip to stop herself crying out as she tried to sit up.  _Duck died_  she thought helplessly. She remembered Aegon trying to get away. He had been bleeding.

 

“Aegon,” she started to ask.

 

“He’s in better shape than you.” He made a sound that might have been a laugh. “He won’t be so pretty now. Gregor cut his face.”

 

Arya felt anger course through her. She waved the maester away. He only took two steps backwards and looked at her with a pained expression. “Why didn’t you go to him first?” Every word was an effort. “You could have saved Duck.”

 

Sandor snorted again at that. “You mean that Kingsguard knight? He did what he was meant to do. I was  _trying_  to help an ungrateful little wolf bitch. I don’t know why I fucking bothered.”

 

“I don’t know why either.” She saw something flicker across his face then and it was enough to make her realise she was being ungrateful. She could not seem to stop though. “I didn’t need your help. You should have gone to him first.”

 

Sandor was silent. The maester came back and poked at Arya’s wrist until she cursed. He then removed her boots and he poked at her ankle until she hissed at him.

 

“Look,” Sandor said, “This thing about the knight,” He paused and looked to be struggling. “I just knew Cersei wanted you dead and I knew the prince wasn’t going to thank me if I left you for Gregor.”

 

 _Cersei_. Arya felt as though her rage was going to overwhelm her. “He was my friend,” she choked out, trying not to cry. The maester began to adjust her ringmail and Arya realised he wanted to remove it. He looked over at Sandor who stood to leave. Arya shook her head and tried to stop him. Pain shot up her arm.

 

“No,” she said.

 

The maester wrung his hands. “I need to see, Your Grace. I can’t treat you otherwise”

 

“No,” she said again. “Please, send Haldon.”

 

The maester looked offended but Arya could not think of his feelings. Haldon did not take long to find her. He looked her over quickly without the simpering and courtesies of the other maester then he suggested she be moved to her own tent for treatment. Arya protested as Sandor picked her up and carried her. It hurt even though he seemed to be trying to be careful.

 

“Where is my uncle? The Northmen?”

 

His mouth twitched. “They have their own injuries.” He set her down on the bed in the tent more gently than she would have expected. She wanted to ask more questions but he cut her off. “Is there wine?”

 

“A little,” she replied. “I’ll make sure you get some.”

 

He nodded and left her with Haldon in the tent. The Halfmaester did not bother to ask why she had requested him. It was fairly obvious the moment he managed to remove the mail and boiled leather. Arya had some scars but he knew not to ask questions. She also wore a bite mark from Aegon. Haldon’s mouth was set in a grim line as he felt around her ribs.

 

“Try not to speak or move if you don’t have to.”

 

Arya began to nod in response but the pain stopped her. Haldon put a patch over the bite and bandaged her ankle and put her wrist in a cast. He told her she would need to be still for a couple of days at least and would need to walk with a stick after that. He felt around her head.

 

“You have a lump.”

 

Arya did not remember hitting her head. She guessed it must have happened when she fell. Haldon was most concerned about her ribs. The ringmail had protected her from the worst of the impact but she was still heavily bruised. He said she would need to rest longer for that to heal and would need milk of the poppy. It was then that he paused and looked at her with cool grey eyes.

 

“You are bleeding.”

 

Arya did not understand his expression at first.  _Why doesn’t he just do something about it_? After a moment of him looking at her with a mix of judgement and concern in his eyes Arya realised what it was he meant.  _I do not want to talk to him about this._

 

“It must be my moon blood,” she said with difficulty. The pain from her ribs made both talking and breathing harder and the more she spoke the worse it got. Haldon’s expression showed he thought she was lying.  _Why must everybody think I am with child_  she thought, exasperated. “I drink moon tea. Don’t tell Aegon or Connington anything stupid.”

 

Cara came to assist her and reeled backwards when she saw her. “Your face...” she cast her eyes down. “I’m sorry Your Grace.” Arya could care less about her face right then. She was sore and sleepy and sick from all that had happened. The brazier was lit and Cara helped her into a shift before Arya asked her to fetch wine for Sandor. The furs were pulled over her and Haldon returned to give her milk of the poppy.

 

“Sleep now,” he ordered her.

 

Arya did not get a chance to answer. Her eyelids became too heavy and she sank into blackness again.

 

**Aegon**

 

Aegon had downed three cups of wine and it had dulled his senses. That was a blessing. Every time he became remotely lucid he could see Duck dying in front of him. He could hear Arya’s reaction again. His wounds were not very serious. There were cuts on his arm and chest which had been stitched. The wound on his face was smaller but it would still scar. Haldon had applied a plaster to his face. It partially blocked his sight on that side.

 

They would not let him see Arya for some time. Instead he sat and heard them discuss the dead and injured. Franklyn Flowers and Galbart Glover were the most high profile losses apart from Duck. Dozens of knights and men at arms had died, many from the Golden Company. The red priest was injured although not seriously, the Blackfish had one arm in a sling, Lady Maege Mormont had a broken leg and two of the Skagosi had died.

 

Aegon listened to them feeling numb. Lord Connington was distancing himself from everybody else. He still wouldn’t let anybody look at his hand. Haldon pursed his lips when Connington brushed him off, saying he had soaked it in boiling wine and bound it with cloth. It looked terrible but naught could be done when Connington would not let anybody see it properly. Aegon heard him mutter something about “needing that damned girl” before discussion turned to how the Mountain had managed to catch them unawares.

 

He downed another cup of wine while they spoke. When they finished he was finally allowed to leave.

 

“Don’t do anything foolish,” Connington warned.

 

Aegon did not answer him. He made his way to Arya’s tent with guards from the Golden Company flanking him. The man who had ridden in on the black horse was sitting just outside the tent. He was hard to look at without his helm. The burns made a ruin of his face. It almost seemed he was smiling as Aegon approached, he held a cup in his hand which he placed on the ground and he promptly rose and took a knee.

 

“Your grace.”

 

Aegon paused at the entrance of the tent and asked him to rise. “I owe you my thanks Ser.”

 

He knew instantly he had said something wrong. The man’s face contorted.

 

“I am no knight. My brother was a knight. Their vows mean shit.” He looked at Aegon with a burning intensity. “I have lived my whole life with people spitting on me for what they said he did to you and your mother.”

 

“You are Sandor Clegane,” Aegon said slowly. He had heard the name spoken but he had not been certain. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I came to kill Gregor,” Sandor replied. He gestured at a wineskin. “Now I’m drinking wine. The she-wolf has been quite generous considering she was furious I did not let her die instead of your knight.”

 

Aegon lost interest in conversation. He muttered a farewell and pushed inside the tent. Arya was in bed and sleeping. The Blackfish was sitting by her bed, his arm in a sling as reported. He looked haggard and he held Arya’s hand in his. Aegon dismissed his guards and pulled a stool up along the other side of her bed.

 

“They gave her milk of the poppy for her pain,” Ser Brynden explained. His voice sounded hoarse.

 

Aegon looked at her. She was so pale. One eye was blackened and swollen and he could see her wrist was in plaster on his side of the bed. Her hair was messy and he reached out to brush it back from her forehead.

 

“I always think of her as unbreakable,” he said softly. “This happened because of me.”

 

The Blackfish scoffed. “She said you know her best. Nobody can stop her when she has her mind set on something. You must know that.”

 

Aegon did not answer. He kept smoothing her hair, remembering her as she had been only the night before. Arya had been glorious even before she had been naked in front of him. She was always so full of life. He never expected to see her in this state and it hurt. He bent over her and pressed his lips to her forehead.

 

“You have been drinking,” the Blackfish said stiffly.

 

Aegon straightened up and looked at him with bleary eyes. “I am not drunk.”

 

Ser Brynden’s mouth was set in a hard line. “Do not feel that you may take liberties just because my niece sleeps.”

 

Aegon struggled between his feelings of guilt and the injustice of the accusation. “I would never do anything Arya did not wish Ser,” he said defensively. He looked down at her again. She shifted a little in her sleep and he heard her whimper. Her hair was still caught in his fingers and he brushed it away once more.

 

The Blackfish looked at him darkly. “She told me you wished to marry another.”

 

 _I do not wish it_. Aegon stood. “I will take my leave Ser,” he managed. “Will you tell her I came to see her?”

 

Ser Brynden pursed his lips. “If she wishes to see you when she wakes I will send for you,” was all he said. “You are not to come here again.”

 

The message was clear. Aegon was not welcome.  _It is only right_  he thought as he walked away.  _It is my fault._

 

**Arya**

Arya lost all concept of time. When she woke she was thirsty. Her uncle was there and he fetched her water, holding the cup to her lips. She almost choked on it. The pain had not lessened, if anything it was worse. Arya tried to hide it. She did not want to go back to sleep yet.

 

“Tell me who,” she forced out. “Tell me how.”

 

Thankfully the Blackfish knew what she meant by those few words. He did not try to shelter her. The list of the dead was a long one. Ser Robert had killed the scouts to prevent them warning of his coming. He had then cut through the horse lines to cause the distraction. Ser Brynden began to tell her of the injured. That list was fairly long too. She found her concentration wavering before he was done.

 

“The Hound is still here,” Ser Brynden said.

 

Arya did not understand it.  _He must want something._ She would need to find out as soon as she was able to speak and think properly. It would be better if she was up and capable of moving around.  _He must not see me weak._ She did not know what to expect from him. The Blackfish did not like him near her tent but Arya said to let him be for now. Haldon came to see her and check her injuries. He shook his head, looking unhappy and gave her another dose of milk of the poppy despite her protests.

 

The next days were a blur of pain and poppy dreams. Arya found out little pieces of information each time she woke. The march had clearly halted and it frustrated her. She was not used to being weak. She wanted to finish the fighting so she could go back North. They did not have time for a delay. Her men came and went, all looking concerned. Ser Robett Glover tried to cover his grief but Arya knew. She reached out with her uninjured arm and took his hand.

 

“I know what it is to lose a brother.”

 

Lady Maege limped in using a stick to aid her broken leg. There was a softness underneath her usual gruff exterior. She placed her hand on Arya’s arm.

 

“You did the North proud Your Grace.”

 

The Skagosi did not seem to know what to say. When Arya brought up the dead to them the leader shook his head. They had died honourable deaths and that was all he cared about. He renewed his vow of fealty to her, switching between faltering Common Tongue and the Old Tongue.

 

Thoros visited too. He had a large cut across his chest. Arya knew he was lucky to be alive. If it had been deeper he would be dead.

 

“R’hllor is not finished with me yet,” he said in a wry voice. “How did you know about the fire?”

 

Arya was not sure how to explain so she simply told him of what Jon had said. Thoros went very quiet upon hearing of what was happening at the Wall. He muttered about needing to search the flames and left her.

 

Aegon did not come to see her. Arya was confused. She knew he was not badly injured, her uncle had told her with a strange expression that he only had a few cuts. It had been almost a week before she got answers. She woke to find Nymeria Sand perched over her bed. If Arya had been one to startle easily she might have screamed to wake with the other woman’s face only inches from hers. Instead she simply struggled to sit.

 

“Lady Nym,” she said, pleased to find speech was not so difficult now. “I wondered when I might see you again.”

 

“This is not my first visit,” Nymeria said, looking curiously at the direwolf lying on the ground beside Arya’s bed. The wolf spent more time by her side during her convalescence. “You were asleep during the other times.”

 

Arya wanted to ask her about Aegon but she did not know how. Thankfully Lady Nym saved her the bother.

 

“My cousin has hidden himself away. He will not see anybody. He has taken the death of his Kingsguard knight very hard. He blames himself for that and your injuries and will not listen to reason. If we had more wine I think he would be permanently drunk.”

 

It did not sound like Aegon. Arya began to struggle up, searching for the stick she was given. Before she could leave Connington darkened the entrance to her tent. He shot a look at Lady Nym and the Dornishwoman smirked and took her leave. He hesitated a moment before striding to the side of her bed. Arya could immediately smell something bad.

 

“Haldon tells me you will be able to get up and move now.”

 

“Yes,” Arya replied. She was still covered in purplish bruising but her pain was less and she was on lower doses of milk of the poppy. “Nymeria told me about Aegon.” Before he could answer she sniffed. “I heard you injured your hand. It smells bad.”

 

Connington grimaced. “It is bad. I can’t feel it but it is infected. Haldon wants to see it. I’m running out of excuses.” He hesitated. “That is not why I am here.”

 

Arya could see a war going on inside him. His purpose was clearly one of last resort.  _He does not want to ask._

 

“You want me to speak with him.”

 

Lord Connington looked deflated. “It is not right but there is no alternative. He will not listen to anybody else.”

 

Arya nodded. “You did not need to ask,” she said softly. “I would have gone anyway. I know how to get through to him.”

 

**Aegon**

Aegon heard them all talking about him. He was not behaving as a prince should and he was not behaving as a  _king_  should. Every time the effects of the wine wore off he was stuck with living with what had happened. Connington had spoken with him but Connington did not understand.

 

Aegon tried to tell him. “Duck died to save me.”

 

“That was his duty,” Connington replied. “It was what he was sworn to do.” There was a hint of respect in Connington’s tone.

 

“He should not have had to die,” Aegon said flatly. “He was my friend.”

 

Connington looked at him with an incredulous expression. “He wore the white cloak. You said it yourself when you chose him. Duck would die for you. That was the reason you gave for choosing him. You cannot wallow now just because it happened.”

 

It was a reminder that this was his fault.  _When I said that I never thought it would happen._  Aegon had been a cocky, stupid boy then with no real sense of how war worked. It was not the same as the stories. They made it seem all glory and excitement.

 

He felt listless now. He sat on his bed in the tent looking at one of the history books he had with him. Lemore’s voice cut across his thoughts from outside. She had arrived only a couple of days after the battle. Aegon had been so excited about her coming but after what happened he could not face her. There was a noise behind him and he tensed.

 

“I want to be alone,” he said quietly. A hand rested on his shoulder. He turned to look. It was Arya. Her hair was loose and tousled and although her eye was still bruised it was not swollen now and the colour was fading. She was wearing a robe and only one boot. Her arm was still in a cast. She held a stick in the other hand.

 

“I won’t leave Aegon.”

 

Aegon simply nodded. She sat without an invitation and her hand reached up to his face. He flinched a little as she pulled the plaster away. Haldon had wanted to remove it earlier. Aegon had sent him out, telling him he did not want to see anybody.

 

“Did they send you in here?”

 

“Yes,” she replied “but I wanted to come.” She bit her lip. “I know it is not the same but he was my friend too.” He saw her looking at his face curiously as she pushed his hair back away from where the cut had been.

 

“Am I hideous?” he asked.

 

Arya’s grin was fleeting. “Never,” she said in a serious voice. “It has healed well. The scar simply makes you look like a warrior.”

 

_Duck was more of a warrior than me._

Arya seemed to know what he was thinking. She shifted closer and rested her head on his shoulder.

 

“You will never stop missing him.”

 

“I don’t want to think about it,” Aegon said stiffly. They sat in silence for a while before she spoke again.

 

“It is not your fault Aegon. You cannot blame yourself for any of it.”

 

Aegon began to protest but she would not let him. She put her arms around him and began to rock gently, rubbing his back with her good hand. It felt so good to be near her again but it brought his guilt to the surface even more.

 

“He loved you,” he choked out. Arya tensed and he rushed to clarify. “Not the same way I love you but he loved you all the same.” He lifted his head to look at her and saw moisture on her lashes. It broke him and when she took him back into her arms again he wept. Arya kissed him and petted him and encouraged him. When he was finally done she looked into his eyes and he could see a steely resolve.

 

“You will not blame yourself anymore,” she said. “Grieve for him but do not hide away. You are better than that.”

 

Aegon began to protest again and she cut him off.

 

“You did not see it all Aegon and you have not been listening. Robert Strong was sent for both of us, not just you. If it is your fault then it is mine as well. I do not blame myself.”

 

Aegon looked at her, not understanding what she was trying to tell him. He reached for her carefully and she gave him comfort again. Her touch was gentle and her kisses soothing. Her voice however was iron when she whispered in his ear.

 

“There is someone to blame. You just have been too upset to see it. I was only nine when my father gave me this lesson and I have never forgotten it. Hate and blame should be reserved for those who truly deserve it. It should be kept for those who were really responsible. That is not either of us. Think about it Aegon. Think about who sent him. They did this and  _they_  must pay.”

 

Aegon could hear her hatred seeping into her words. As soon as he gave it thought it boiled up inside him too. He looked into her dark grey eyes, so much wiser than his despite her being younger. Duck had said Daenerys would never make a better queen than Arya. She would not make a better wife for him than Arya. Although Aegon had no choice he felt the truth of those words now.

 

“I needed you,” he said, cupping her face and kissing her with a passion he never thought he would feel again. “You make me better.” Her fingers dug into his shoulder as he kissed her throat and he stopped. “Will you stay with me?”

 

Arya only hesitated a moment before lying down in his bed and allowing him to lie close to her.

 

“Yes,” she said

 

**Bran**

 

Every day had been much the same for such a long time. He sat in his weirwood throne and he saw. He had learned to fly and he could fly almost anywhere. The ravens could send messages, Bran had learned that. Lord Brynden had said all he could do was watch through the trees but with the ravens he could do more but only if people understood.

 

Bran saw so much. He saw Jon at Castle Black and Rickon at Winterfell. Sansa was still out of his reach but he knew she lived. Arya had been out of his reach too but now she was close. He saw her when she arrived at Winterfell. He saw her with the prince. He saw her with Rickon and he saw her with Jon. Seeing them together made his heart ache.

 

Bran only had Lord Brynden, Meera Jojen and Hodor. Jojen faded more with each day and would not last much longer. Meera wept for her brother. Lord Brynden spoke with him about the trees but he did not help Bran with his loneliness. It was difficult seeing his brothers and his sister and not being able to speak with them, not truly. He wanted to tell them what he knew.

 

He knew much and more. The weirwoods had shared their secrets with him. Bran knew of war and love and loss. The trees called to him and he could see when and where he wished now. He did not need to sit on a throne under the earth to see. He wanted to leave and to be with his family, to go to Winterfell with Rickon and see Arya when she returned but he couldn’t. It was not safe. The dead things still waited outside the cave.

 

Jon knew some of the secrets now. Bran saw Howland Reed tell him of his birth and he saw Lady Maege tell him of the Will. He tried to tell Jon in his own way but Jon did not understand. The raven was a nuisance to Jon and he often wanted to be rid of it. He would not listen to Bran when he spoke through the raven. Instead Bran settled for seeing Jon through the raven.

 

Arya was different. Bran did not know it straight away. It took him time to track her as she travelled through Westeros. When he slipped into the raven he saw her. He knew from Winterfell that something had happened to her. He saw it and heard others speak of it. It was even more obvious when he watched her speaking of war. Watching however was not the end of it.

 

Bran felt it the moment she skinchanged into the raven. Arya did not know what she had done. The connection was instant. Bran had been the broken boy and he thought he knew despair. He was wrong. When he felt Arya he thought her despair would drown him. Her grief and hate was beyond anything he could imagine. He thanked the gods she had only been in the raven an instant and not at the same time as him. It was not like Hodor, her presence was strong and threatened to overwhelm him so that her emotions overtook his own.

 

He feared Lord Brynden would know but he did not seem to. Bran stayed away from Arya for days afterwards, frightened of what might become of him if he got too close. He almost missed the danger. If he had not seen the dead knight through the trees he might have been too late. He felt her spike of fear and unlike Jon, Arya understood his message. He watched her as she was carried from the battle and he watched over her while she was unconscious.

 

It was then that he realised the connection went both ways. He felt Arya, she was temporarily broken but she would be strong again. He heard Arya and it brought tears to his eyes because she heard him too.

 

“Bran,” she whispered. “I don’t understand.”

 

“You will,” he replied, certain that she would.

 

Bran was not so alone any more. Arya was like him and finally, finally he felt he had his family again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes to Donewithwoodenteeth for messaging me about skinchanging. I was always going to incorporate it in this chapter but her messages sparked ideas which helped my vague notions evolve into something more. If anybody ever wants to ask me about the story don't be afraid to via here or tumblr.


	63. Chapter 63

Chapter 63

****

She knew she was taking a risk staying but she did not feel she could leave. It was difficult to accommodate her cast but they managed it. Aegon nestled close to her, one arm slung across her middle just below the bruising. It was not long before his breathing became even and she knew he slept. He looked so peaceful. The healing wound on his cheek was an angry red but Arya knew that would fade. It extended from just below his right eyebrow halfway down the side of his cheek. He had been marked but not truly disfigured. She scowled remembering Sandor’s remark about it.

Arya also wanted to forget about everything else, just for a little while and she could not do that in her own tent. Her waking hours, as few as they were right now, were filled with visitors reminding her of the attack by Robert Strong and those killed or injured during it. Arya had lived with death and killing for years at the House of Black and White but that was different. It was easier to distance herself from her targets then. It was always the same ritual. The Kindly man would call on her to kill a man. Arya would ask who it was.

“No one you know,” he would always reply. “No one you love.”

She would watch the person she did not know and did not love and justified their death by their flaws, by the darkness within them. Arya could not say the same of those who died at the hands of Robert Strong. They were people she knew and some of them were people she had been stupid enough to get close to. Their deaths could not pass without leaving their mark on her, just as they had on Aegon.

Arya was beginning to feel sleepy herself when Aegon started to become agitated and she realised he was talking in his sleep. His face twisted in anguish and she heard him mumble her name and Duck’s. When she touched him and spoke softly to reassure him he seemed to relax. His fingers clutched at her robe before his arm wrapped more tightly around her. He settled down again, his head resting close to hers and she heard him sigh and mumble again “Arya.”

He reminded her a little of Rickon after one of her brother’s bad dreams. Rickon would climb into her bed and want to cling to her as though making sure she really wasn’t going to go anywhere. She felt a surge of guilt remembering that she had not written to him since they crossed the Trident.  _He will be worried about me._  That thought was quickly replaced by a worse one.

_ Rickon will take Duck’s death badly. _

__

She lay there, turning it over in her mind until sleep took her away. She was drifting, much as she had ever since she had been injured. The wolf dreams which she now knew were not dreams had stopped with the milk of the poppy. Bran’s voice reached her in her hazy sleep.

“The real danger is in the North, not the South Arya. We cannot afford to fail.”

Arya resisted him. “No, the Lannisters have taken too much.” She felt even more strongly about it now. Her other reasons for marching south remained but her need to avenge Duck, to avenge her friend as well as her family had overtaken those.

Bran’s voice faded but she could feel his sadness. “They have.”

Arya had been one to wake quickly at the slightest sound, especially since her training but her injuries and the doses of milk of the poppy had taken a toll. She stirred slowly when she felt Aegon moving. Her vision was blurry with sleep when she looked at him but she registered that he was scowling and speaking with somebody else. He leaned down and placed a light kiss to her temple.

“Rest my love,” he whispered. “Haldon will check on you soon.”

Arya was not up to arguing. She shifted in the bed to get comfortable and slept again. Haldon roused her later and she woke with a start.

“How long did I sleep?”

Aegon was sitting at the opposite side of the tent, a quill in his hand. He discarded it and moved to join her.

“It is close to dinner time.” He must have seen her worry because he was quick to try and reassure her. “I sent a messenger to your uncle. He knows you were resting here.”

Arya did not feel much better. Haldon began to ask questions and Aegon joined him in determinedly examining all of her injuries. Arya could see that the Halfmaester dearly wanted to tell Aegon to leave but Arya indulged him. His hands were gentle when he looked at her arm, her ankle, her eye and her ribs. The concern in his eyes was obvious and it was clear he wanted to be sure she really was going to recover.

“I suggest you keep using the stick for a few more days,” Haldon said, eyeing Aegon warily. “The swelling has gone down but you should avoid putting weight on it until the pain subsides.”

“I want no more milk of the poppy,” Arya said quickly, trying to stifle a yawn. “It makes me sleep too much.”

Haldon nodded and passed the stick to her. Arya stood and shook her head when Aegon moved to help her. He shot a look at Haldon who left them.

“I have something for you if you still want it,” Aegon said hesitantly.

Arya moved over to the stool he pointed to and sat. He shot her a look as he rummaged in a crate. “What?” she asked. He retrieved a small parcel and came back to join her.

“Nothing,” he replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I should not be surprised that even with an injured foot and arm you can still move more easily than most people who have no injury at all.” He sat beside her and offered the parcel. Arya smelled the contents before she saw them.

“You remembered,” she said, surprised as she took a piece of the candied ginger. It tasted even better than she expected.

His eyes were sad as he responded. “I like to think of that night. It was my last happy memory before...”

Arya reached out and pushed back a stray lock of hair from his face. He smiled a little when she picked up a piece of the candied ginger and put it in his mouth. She then turned her attention to the parchment in front of her, screwing up her face.

“I need to write to Rickon.”

She reached for his quill then realised there was a problem. She frowned at the cast.  _I suppose I could try to write with the other hand._  While she was deciding Aegon took the quill from her and dragged the piece of parchment closer.

“You can tell me what to write.”

Arya thought for a moment before accepting the offer. She would have asked her uncle but writing would be difficult for him too with his injury. It was not something she wanted to ask a maester to do for her. She took a deep breath then began to dictate to him what to write. It started out well. Aegon was good with the written word, better than Arya and he helped her explain her injuries and Duck’s death.

She tensed when they reached the next part. Duck had no place of his own in Westeros. When Arya asked Aegon whether Duck should be buried in Winterfell he pulled her close and kissed her.

“I think he would have liked that,” he said in a thick voice.

The letter writing went downhill from there. Arya argued with Aegon about what should and should not be included. In the end Aegon took over despite her protests, finishing off the letter as he saw fit. Arya tried to be cross with him but he would not let her.

“You are a terrible letter writer,” he told her. “People would almost think you did not care.”

“There is a difference between being uncaring and saying too much,” she retorted back.

Aegon raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you telling me I say too much?”

Arya huffed and pulled out the parchment she had shifted to her boot. “I don’t need to tell you,” she retorted, “I have evidence.”

Aegon read it and his expression turned incredulous. “You keep this with you?”

Arya flushed and tried to snatch it back from him. “I should have burned it,” she snapped, “I spend too much time trying to stop people finding it.” It was the first letter he wrote her in Winterfell. She worried about leaving it unattended where people might find it, especially now that Cara handled her clothes. “I should burn it right now.”

Aegon tucked it back in her boot. “You won’t,” he said softly. When he straightened back up he looked serious. Arya knew that expression. He folded the letter to Rickon, addressed it and pressed his seal into it.

“Aly Mormont needs to be told too,” she mumbled, reaching for her stick to try and avoid the conversation she could feel coming. It was too late. Aegon took hold of her arm to keep her there.

“I have been trying not to bring this up,” he said slowly.

_ Please don’t let this be what I think it is. _  Arya cursed herself for revealing she still had the letter.

__

Aegon cleared his throat and looked at his hands. “I heard Lord Connington and Nymeria talking after you were injured. They thought I was asleep. They were discussing something Haldon said about your injuries, a mistake he made.”

Arya took a deep breath. “I  _asked_  him not to say anything about that,” she said, feeling irritated. “It serves no good purpose.”

Aegon twined his fingers through hers. “No child of ours would ever be a bastard. I hope you know that.”

_ I do know that and it would ruin us all. _

“I was not with child,” Arya said instead, trying to hide her annoyance. “I told Haldon that.”

Aegon grimaced. “I know. You drink moon tea.”

Arya pulled her hand free. “I cannot be a mother.” The Kindly man’s words ran through her head.  _You will be no one’s wife, no one’s mother_. Arya had not wanted it then and no matter her moments of uncertainty she did not want it now.

“You would be a good mother,” he said softly and Arya knew then that he had spent far more time thinking about it than she ever imagined. “I know how good you are with your brother and the children we meet.”

“Don’t do this Aegon,” she warned. “You know how things must be. I will keep from your bed if that is what it takes.”

“No,” he said quickly and Arya could see the thought pained him. He reached for her and Arya put a hand on his chest to hold him back. “I know it can’t be,” he said quietly. “It does not mean I cannot imagine our children.” His smile was a little forced. “Think of what it would be like to have babes who look like me but have your spirit.”

Arya wanted to smile despite herself and it took an effort to force her face to look disapproving. “That would not be a good thing,” she said, letting him put his arm around her. “Connington can tell you that one of me causes enough trouble.”

“I want family Arya,” Aegon whispered. “They took mine from me. They took yours too.”

Arya swallowed away the pain the words dredged up. “Daenerys is your family.”

He pressed his lips to her head and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I know that but I just wanted you to know it is you I’d rather have.”

“I did not need you to tell me,” she said stiffly. “I would rather you didn’t say these things.”

He did not pull away. After a brief silence he spoke again. “It isn’t about me is it?” he asked. “You don’t want children at all?”

Arya was quick to answer. “I don’t want children with anybody.” It was only partially a lie. Arya felt that to do what she needed to do she could not have children. It was not something she had ever truly thought about wanting, not with where she was when she had her first blood. Aegon’s children would be worse.  _I would worry constantly that somebody would take them from me._  There were moments where she did wonder what it might be like. She then quickly told herself that she was being stupid.

“You look so tired,” she told him, trying to change the subject.

“I haven’t slept well since the attack,” he admitted. He brushed her hair away from her neck and placed a kiss on her pulse point. “I slept better with you there.” Before she could think of an answer he had pulled a blank piece of parchment closer and looked at her expectantly.

They were finishing the letter to Aly Mormont when her uncle came to the tent. Nymeria Sand was with him and the Sand Snake looked greatly amused. The Blackfish was not. His expression darkened when he looked at Aegon and Arya felt Aegon tense beside her.

“We are writing letters uncle,” Arya explained. “I did not mean to be so long.”

“Will you come with me now?” Ser Brynden asked, his face darkening further as Aegon passed her the parcel with the last two pieces of candied ginger. His fingers lingered on hers and Arya could see him searching her face. She smiled at him, trying to send a silent message.  _I am not angry with you._

The Blackfish moved to help her and Arya insisted again that she could manage. As soon as they were clear of the tent the awkward conversation began.

“You should not spend so much time with him. It encourages him.”

“He has been struggling,” Arya said defensively. “He blamed himself.”

“I know that,” the Blackfish said abruptly. “He said as much in your tent while you were at your worst. You have been gone for hours.”

“He visited me?” Arya blurted. Ser Brynden’s expression darkened again and a flush crept up his neck.

“He had been drinking and his behaviour was not honourable. I did not wish to disturb you with it.”

_ That is why he stayed away. _  Arya tried not to chew her lip. “Whatever he did he meant no harm. Aegon is a good man.”

“He seems to be but you said yourself that he wishes to marry another.”

Arya wished she knew what Aegon had done. Her uncle had never looked so disapproving before. “He does not wish it. Do not punish him for it. Please do not try to take our friendship from him.” They had tried to be so careful. She wanted to curse Aegon for being careless when she was asleep and powerless to prevent it.

Brynden Tully was looking at her intently and Arya tried her best to hide from him. “I have seen others destroyed from this game you are playing.”

“It is no game uncle,” she said quickly, trying to determine what his words meant.  _He knows something_. He was looking at her with sadness. “I do not play games.”

He rested his hand on her shoulder. “I will say again be careful Arya. Your actions could affect far more than you realise.”

Arya stiffened. “I’m not stupid uncle, I know that.”

The Blackfish sighed. “I know you are not stupid but I also remember your brother. Leading is about more than winning battles.”

Arya did not know what to say.  _I know that too._ She was not certain whether her uncle was referring to her or Aegon. Even with her training she could not read it in his expression. All she could tell was that he was worried. Before she could figure out an answer she saw Sandor Clegane outside her tent. Ser Brynden frowned at him.

_ I really need to find out what he wants _ .

Sandor looked over her from head to toe and gave a short laugh as he took a knee. Arya felt irritation.  _He is mocking me._  She told him sharply to rise and he did. She looked at how she was dressed. Aegon had not cared but Aegon was different.  _I need to change._

“I will speak with you after dinner,” she told him.

Cara was waiting inside and even though Arya could manage she accepted the handmaid’s help. She managed to pull on woollen pants and a tunic though layers were difficult. In the end she made do with a fur lined cloak. Cara passed her the crown and she wanted to refuse it. She sighed as she submitted to having it placed on her head. When she joined the men for dinner they were pleased to see her moving about. Her eyelids tried to droop well before the meal was finished but she made herself stay awake.

Sandor Clegane was waiting for her when she returned to her tent. He had a cup in his hand and Arya could smell the wine. She wondered how he was getting it. The wineskin she provided for him was long gone and they did not have a lot to spare despite replenishments. He followed her into the tent and eyed Nymeria with interest as the direwolf sat alongside Arya. Arya expected Nymeriaa to growl at him but the wolf remained silent.

“What is it that you want?” she asked him abruptly.

He looked her over. “I’ve been hearing a lot of things Your Grace.” The way he said her title felt wrong.  _I prefer when he calls me she-wolf._

“I heard things about you too,” she retorted.

Sandor shook his head and scowled. “People keep trying to pin crimes on me. I admit what I am. I’ve spent years...” His face twitched and Arya tried to make out what he was going to say. “I only left when I found out what they had done with Gregor.”

“Left where?” Arya asked curiously.

His mouth tightened. “Never you mind. They want no trouble from the likes of us.”

_ What does he mean by us?  _ “I’m not like you,” Arya replied indignantly.

He made that sound which Arya knew to be a laugh. “That is true. At your age I hadn’t killed anywhere near so bloody many. He’d have you digging graves for years.”

Arya took a deep breath and tried to school her face. He gave her a queer look and she knew she had succeeded. “What do you want?” she repeated again. “Is it gold you are after?”

His face contorted a little and Arya could tell he was offended. She could not understand why.  _Gold used to be all he cared about_. He quickly laughed again. “You do owe me gold,” he said.  “You owe me a shitload for keeping you alive more than once now and for saving your prince.”

She chose not to acknowledge his comment about Aegon being hers. “I did not ask you to save me.”

Sandor smiled his grotesque smile. “You did ask me to save  _him_.”

It was true. Arya thought quickly. “Why didn’t you ask Prince Aegon for your gold?”

He snorted at that. “I knew before I even rode into your camp who holds the real power here.” He looked at her again in a way Arya did not like. “You don’t have your sister’s looks but I think I can see it.”

Arya tried not to take the bait but she could not help it. “See what?”

Sandor shrugged. “Men want what they can’t have. You’re pretty enough and you have power.”

Arya seethed. “I could kill you,” she hissed.

He laughed. “Tell me again that we are not alike. A dog and a wolf are not that different. Give me enough gold and I’ll leave.” He stood and his face twitched again. “Of course if you are smart you would not want me to leave.”

Long after he was gone Arya was still stewing and she still did not have answers.  _I still don’t know what he really wants._

*

When Arya woke the next morning she was sore but she was thankfully far more alert. She met with her men to speak of arrangements for the bodies to go with the silent sisters. Some of it had already been organised while she was recovering. They also began talks of resuming the march. Arya saw many of them look at her sceptically.

“I’m sure I could sit a horse,” she said defensively. She frowned when there was talk of the feasibility of her travelling on one of the wagons.

Nymeria Sand was waiting in her tent when she returned to it. “Aegon looked most comfortable when I stopped by yesterday,” she said as soon as Arya was seated. “It was a shame to disturb him.” There was laughter in her voice.

_ She was the one speaking to him when I was sleeping. _

Arya chose to ignore her amusement. “We were only sleeping.”

“I’m sure,” Nymeria smirked. “What did you do to him?”

Arya blinked. “What do you mean?”

The Dornishwoman studied her. “I was in the war council with him this morning. You don’t look capable of fucking him senseless right now but you did  _something_. He went from hiding away with a wineskin to Fire and Blood quite quickly.”

Arya carefully kept her expression neutral and did not answer. The raven still hovered in or near her tent. It flew at her now to perch on her shoulder and she quickly gave it something to eat. She knew Aegon had heard her earlier, she had seen the change in him before he asked her to stay with him. Lady Nym kept looking at her.

“I just told him the truth,” she finally said.

Nymeria laughed. “If that is the effect of you whispering in his ear then you should do it more often. It was most enjoyable to watch. Grief is not becoming in him. Vengeance suits him much better”

Arya watched her stalk from the tent looking even more predatory than usual. Her visit was followed by Lord Connington. Arya could smell him coming before she saw him. He looked about as happy as she had ever seen him which was not much.

“He is better,” he said gruffly. “When do you think you will be able to move from here?”

Arya frowned at her ankle. “I spoke with my men earlier. I want to leave as soon as possible. They looked at me as though I was mad.” She gave him a look. “You need to do something about that hand first.”

Connington set his mouth in a grim line. She could see he was unsteady. The fever was clearly getting worse. Arya grabbed her stick and began to move. “Come with me.”

He was reluctant but he followed, paying no attention to the direwolf shadowing them. Arya took him to the Northern maester’s tent. Connington muttered under his breath that it was a stupid idea. Arya ignored him.

“I need you to look at Lord Connington’s hand,” she told him. As he stepped forward she stopped him. “Look but don’t touch and tell no one.”

The maester looked offended but he nodded. He took one look at the hand and turned almost as grey as the affected limb. “You will doom us all.”

Arya ignored him. “How do we treat it?”

“You cannot,” the maester said. “The greyscale will spread.”

“I mean the infection,” Arya said, trying to remain patient. The maester simply shook his head.

“Mayhaps it is for the best.”

Lord Connington snorted. Arya scowled and Nymeria must have sensed her unhappiness because the direwolf began to snarl. The maester took a step backwards.

“Tell no one,” Arya repeated. She retreated from the tent and Connington followed her, glowering and muttering.

“That was a waste of time. I would have gotten further if I’d spoken to Haldon and we cannot know that man will keep quiet.”

Arya did not answer him.  _I can keep him quiet better than I could with Haldon if need be._ She kept moving with purpose to the only other man she thought might possibly help.  _I should have gone to him first_. Thoros smiled when he saw her but he sucked in his breath at the sight of Connington’s hand.

“Can you do anything?” she pleaded.

If she had not believed before she would have by the time he was done. Thoros looked surprised himself when he finished uttering his prayers and incantations. The hand looked burnt and it smoked but the smell was gone. The infection was no more.

“It has only bought time,” Thoros said “but R’hllor clearly is not finished with you yet.”

Connington walked with her from the tent, pulling a glove over his hand. “Time is all I ever wanted,” he said slowly. His mouth opened and shut and although he did not say anything, was far too proud to say it, Arya knew what he was thinking.

“I know my lord,” she replied. “You will not fail him.”

Connington half smiled and half frowned. “I hope you are right. We cannot fail.”

Arya watched him walk away thinking again of the various conversations she had taken part in over the past two days. Arya now knew what was needed of her better than anybody else. She did need to be careful, she knew that but she also knew that what other people might view as wrong was what would ensure success both for her family, the North and for Aegon. There was so much at risk and Connington and Bran were both right.  _We cannot afford to fail._


	64. Chapter 64: Brienne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware of the inconsistency in titles in this chapter. Rickon should really be prince Rickon but I have Brienne calling him Lord. Whether Arya is Queen in her own right or regent Bran is the real king in the North. I’m going with Lord Rickon in this because it makes my head hurt less writing it, a prince is still a lord and Rickon does not want to be called a prince anyway...

Chapter 64: Brienne

There had been a lapse in the letters from Queen Arya. The last had been sent to Rickon and it was short. Brienne knew that Arya sent the letter from the Riverlands. She worried about what it might mean. Lady Stoneheart accused Brienne of breaking her oath.  _Does Arya now think I have failed her too?_  The silence seemed to speak volumes.

 

Lord Rickon felt it too. He continued to apply himself to his lessons with her but he had begun riding his pony through the woods with minimal guards and Shaggydog. He wanted to do things on his own. The boy grew wilder again until one day he simply went missing. It took hours to locate him hidden away in the crypts and when they did Shaggydog was vicious. Rickon would not speak until late in the night. When he finally broke his silence Brienne was disturbed.

 

“Arya is hurt,” was all he would say.

 

Aly Mormont tried to tell him he was wrong, that they had no news of a defeat but Brienne was disquieted. An injury might explain the lack of letters just as well as the other explanation Brienne had suspected but surely somebody else would write them with news. Brienne waited and tried unsuccessfully to calm Rickon.

 

A distraction came in the form of men at the gates of Winterfell. A messenger sought out Brienne and she was shocked to see that she knew the visitors. Harwin looked tired but he also appeared cowed. Gendry looked much the same as Brienne remembered him. His coal black hair still hung in his eyes and those blue eyes still looked angry. He still wore that same scowl. There was something else though, a determination that had not been there before. There were others with them. Brienne knew they were also from the Brotherhood but she did not know their names.

 

“Queen Arya sent me,” Harwin said quickly.

 

Brienne nodded to Aly and the visitors were allowed through the gates. Lord Rickon was away in the godswood despite his presence having been requested in the great hall. Both Harwin and Gendry were awkward and Brienne knew immediately that they had tidings they did not wish to share with the others at Winterfell. She asked them to walk with her as soon as the formalities were completed, remembering what Arya had once said of her private place.

 

Harwin knew the way better than she did and he eagerly walked with her. He knelt at the heart tree in silence when they arrived. The fact that he was praying to the old gods made her feel more disquieted. Brienne stood by awkwardly and Gendry looked as uncomfortable as she felt. It was a relief when Harwin rose to rejoin them.

 

“You did not warn her about her mother,” was the first thing he said.

 

“I did not know what to say,” Brienne replied. “She has some strong views on death.”

 

Gendry and Harwin shared a look.

 

“That is certainly true my lady,” Harwin said, shaking his head. “She is not the same girl we knew at Winterfell or from the Brotherhood.”

 

Gendry set his jaw and scowled. “None of us are the same.”

 

Brienne could not stand the mystery any longer. “What happened in the Riverlands? What brought you here?”

 

They both looked surprised. “She did not tell you?”

 

Brienne shook her head in response. “We have heard little from Queen Arya. Her brother is getting worried.”

 

Harwin reached into the sack he was carrying and produced a crown. Brienne recognised it instantly.

 

“Arya tried to speak to her mother. She tried to intervene in a judgement. She gave up her sword but she had hidden knives. I never expected her to be so  _angry_.”

 

“We should have expected her anger,” Gendry said. “I just never thought she would be unhappy to see her.”

 

 _He was thinking of the girl he knew._ Brienne was not at all surprised that the girl had been angry. It was the exact reaction she had feared.

 

Harwin shook his head. “She wasn’t unhappy to see her mother. It was seeing her as she was.” He looked at Brienne then fingered the crown. “Lady Stoneheart is dead by Arya’s hand.”

 

Brienne did not know what to say. “She killed her mother?” Brienne had imagined a lot of outcomes to the meeting.  _I did not imagine that._

Gendry became defensive. “She was already dead.”

“Thoros said she could lead,” Harwin said softly. “She said the men should ask Aegon’s mercy or take the black. I was instructed to bring the crown to Winterfell because I was once her father’s man.” His tone was sad.

 

Brienne looked at it. “I suggest you take it to the castellan, Aly Mormont. Lord Rickon may not react well to the sight of it.”

 

Harwin nodded and took his leave. Brienne was left with Gendry. He had warmed to her a little before she had last left the hollow hill but he was back to being aloof again now. He took a deep breath and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. Brienne waited for him to speak but he stayed silent.

 

“What are your plans Gendry?” she asked, hoping to prompt him into speaking.

 

“You were right,” he said gruffly instead.

 

Brienne tried to think back to determine what she was right about. “What do you mean?”

 

“Arya said the same thing you did m’lady,” he looked at the ground. “She said I should find a better way to be the knight I wanted.”

 

“Oh,” Brienne did not know what else to say. “What is happening with the children at the Inn?”

 

Gendry shook his head. “Others are looking out for them.” He sighed. “I was originally supposed to go to the Wall. Everybody in our group except Harwin is headed there.”

 

“You are young to be making that decision,” Brienne said awkwardly. Gendry began to scowl again and Brienne knew she had hit a nerve. “Stay here a few days first. It looks like a storm is coming.”

 

Gendry nodded. “I will earn my keep. I know there is a forge here.” The smallest of smiles crossed his face for an instant. “She did once say I could smith for her brother.”

 

*

 

Gendry kept his word. There was no shortage of work for him. There had not been a smith in Winterfell for years and Lord Rickon was curious enough to stay close to the castle after his lessons with Brienne to watch Gendry work. Brienne found them speaking of Arya and of swords. Gendry was far more forthcoming about swords than he was about Arya. Brienne could see he was tense talking about her.

 

Harwin had spoken for a time with the young She-Bear. His father had been master of horse and they were willing to accept him working with the horses. He confided in Brienne that it was more than he had hoped for.

 

“After the way Her Grace looked at me I felt like I failed the Starks.”

 

Brienne thought once again of Sansa. “Sometimes no matter what we do we cannot avoid feeling like we have failed.”

 

The snow came down as expected. The storm lasted three days and was followed by ravens. They bore the Targaryen seal rather than a direwolf and Brienne could see that the young She-Bear shared her concern. Brienne took the letter addressed to Rickon and sat with him while he read it. He was getting better but still needed some help. It was in Prince Aegon’s hand and Brienne tensed from the very first words.

 

_Lord Rickon,_

_I am sorry to bring you bad tidings. Our host was attacked and dozens of our men perished. Your sister fought very bravely and was injured in the process. I am writing to you at her request and on her behalf. Rest assured she will make a full recovery._

_We are both grieving the loss of Ser Rolly Duckfield. I know you will take his death hard just as we have. He was most fond of you and spoke of you often. Your sister wishes for him to have his final resting place at Winterfell. He did not have a home but I know he felt welcome there._

_Please do not fret about Arya. She is receiving the best of care and is sitting beside me as I write, teasing me about my letters and scolding me for ignoring her input. She loves you and misses you most fiercely._

_Aegon Targaryen_

 

The news was troubling. Lord Rickon sat quietly through the entire letter though Brienne saw that he was upset by Duck’s death. He was not as angered as Brienne might have expected by Arya’s injuries. She remembered his claim that Arya was hurt.

 

_He already knew._

 

Brienne tried to push away the worry she felt. She knew the Starks were connected differently through the direwolves.  _Just because I don’t understand it does not make it wrong._ She dearly wanted to take the parchment from him when they finished reading. The words were warmer than any of Queen Arya’s letters and that was the problem. It was too familiar and Brienne no longer needed to imagine what was happening in the Riverlands between the prince and Arya.

 

When she made it to the great hall at dinner Aly Mormont had her own tidings. The prince had notified her of the death of Galbart Glover and injury of her mother and others with the Northern army. The young She-Bear did not look stricken. When Brienne asked her about it, she brushed it off.

 

“We grow up on Bear Island expecting this news and worse.”

 

_They are raised as warrior women._

Gendry disappeared early after dinner and Brienne found him in the forge, working away still. His expression was tense.

 

“The Prince was very clear that Queen Arya will recover,” she offered.

 

Gendry paused to dip the metal he was working on into water. It hissed and she could see him scowling.

 

“Her brother told me.”

 

He began to beat against it again. It had seen better days. Brienne knew he was trying to repair dented armour more so than creating new pieces. Her eye was drawn to the beginnings of something new though, sitting on the bench behind him. He saw her looking.

 

“I do not have much time but Lord Rickon wanted a sword. I will leave after it is finished.”

 

Brienne tensed now. “He is only a boy.”

 

Gendry looked at her with clear impatience. “How can you still think like that? He has seen war. His whole family have been involved in it. He saw men killed in front of him. His sister wasn’t much older when she was given hers.”

 

 _He is right._ Brienne still didn’t like it. She thought of Lady Catelyn and Queen Arya.  _Would they wish this?_  The answer came quickly. The answer may have been a negative when Lady Catelyn was alive. Brienne could now picture Arya condoning it. Lady Stoneheart would most certainly agree. Gendry’s voice cut across her thoughts.

 

“He read me some of the letter.”

 

His jaw was clenched tight and he began hammering again. Brienne waited for him to pause before she answered.

 

“He should not have done that.”

 

“I told him the same. He wanted to know why she is still gone if she misses him so much.”

 

Brienne did not know what to say to that.

 

“The Prince meant well,” was all she could think of.

 

Gendry’s expression darkened. “I met him. He’s not as good as everybody keeps saying.”

 

Brienne wondered at what that meant. The Prince was by no means perfect but given the alternative was bastards bred of incest who had brought war, there were few objecting to Aegon bar Stannis and his limited supporters. Even he had not been heard of since leaving Winterfell.  _Unless_...

 

“He and Queen Arya are friends,” she said defensively.

 

Gendry gave her an irritated look. “She can be friends with whoever she likes. She always was. That doesn’t change what I think.”

 

“Oh,” she said, “What did he do to offend you?” Aside from his blunt comment when Brienne had first met him, the prince had been nothing but courteous to her. He had been kinder than most and men usually found him good company with his ready smiles and japes. He was a little like Renly in that though it was the only resemblance.

 

Gendry flushed a little. “I cannot say,” he frowned then elaborated anyway. “There was a girl.” Brienne understood what he was saying but it made no sense. She could not see the Prince doing such a thing with Arya right there. Gendry scowled. “She said it didn’t happen but she’s wrong.”

 

Brienne remained silent.  _It reminds him of his father._ Gendry resumed work, this time picking up the metal which would form Rickon’s sword.

 

“I don’t think he is like King Robert,” Brienne said quietly.

 

Gendry began to heat the metal. “It won’t make any difference to me now. I’ll be at the Wall, like I was meant to be. We’ll see if there is honour in that.”

 

Brienne left him to his work. Lord Rickon was in and out of the forge until the day Gendry and those headed for the Wall left. Rickon liked Gendry and the presence of the smith offered a distraction from the bad news. The prospect of having a new sword also dulled Rickon’s grief over Duck’s death a little though Brienne could see he was as angry as he was upset. She and Aly let him be, knowing that after Gendry left things were likely to be more difficult.

 

The sword was presented to Rickon the day before the men left. It was a longsword designed with a long hilt. Rickon could use two hands to wield it until he grew into it more. Gendry had made it a little smaller to account for Rickon’s age but it would be good for at least a few years. Brienne watched Gendry and Rickon spar to test the new blade with a careful eye.  _Gendry needs proper training._  He had all the instincts to be formidable but no teaching. Brienne supposed that they would give him that at the Wall.

 

When it came time for the men to depart the next day a gathering saw them off. Rickon watched the small group leave, his face darkening as he held his new blade as though he thought somebody might take it from him. Brienne put her hand on his shoulder hoping to reassure him and said her farewells.

 

As the party rode through the gates Brienne remembered what Gendry had said of honour in their conversation in the forge. It brought to mind something Thoros said to her before her first meeting with Lady Stoneheart.  _Some say it does not matter how a man begins, but only how he ends._  Brienne could only hope that was true. There was time yet for all of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tried to write Gendry as in character as I could. I didn’t want some mopey version of him. He is better than that. There has been far too much emphasis on Donal Noye and his death leaving the armoury at the Wall vacant. I believe it is foreshadowing Gendry eventually ending up there so there we are. I was determined he was not going to disappear because I believe he is important to the story. I tried to hint at this early to Gendry fans but could not elaborate without spoiling. Hopefully that has consoled anybody who thought I wrote him out.


	65. Chapter 65: Aegon

**Chapter 65: Aegon**

 

Aegon stalked back to his tent after the war council. The men were glad he was back to strategizing but Harry Strickland had vexed him again. The man opposed anything worth doing. They were limited in what they could do for now anyway. The march could not resume until the Northern army was ready to move.

 

He found Lemore waiting for him in his tent. She smiled at him fondly until she saw Nymeria Sand following close behind him. Lady Nym unsettled the Septa for some reason. Aegon thought little of it, Nym unsettled most people.

 

“Lemore,” he greeted her with a smile and she patted his shoulder affectionately but darted another glance at Nymeria. “You should visit Arya. I’m sure she will be pleased to see you.”

 

Lemore smiled again. “I will but first I must work. There are so many sinful men in an army.”

 

Aegon frowned. A septon would take that role if they had one with them. All Lemore could do is have the men pray with her and it was not something she had to do. It was not the first time Lemore had given reasons not to see Arya. He let it go before but now he was beginning to think something was wrong.

 

“Did you quarrel with her at Storm’s End?”

 

Lemore laughed. “No,” she said, looking amused. She saw his frown and her expression softened. “I will see her when I finish my duties.”

 

“I won’t shy away from visiting our Northern Queen,” Nymeria said. Her expression seemed very innocent but her smile was sharp and her lilting words did not disguise the wit underneath. “She is such good company as I’m sure our prince will agree.”

 

Aegon watched her leave hoping she was not going to stir up trouble. He had not known her long but he knew she was dangerous. It had not stopped him developing a fondness for her.  _We share blood._  Lord Connington wanted him to keep her at arm’s length but Aegon was never very good at doing that. For him people were either enemies or friends and when Nymeria was not teasing him she was quite warm. Even her teasing often had a note of affection.

 

Lemore shot him a look of concern. “She knows.”

 

Aegon flushed. “The night she arrived she found us together. She will not tell anybody.” He sat and Lemore moved to his side, her fingers tidying his windblown hair as she had done when he was a child. The gesture was comforting.

 

“Remarks like that will be noticed,” she said softly. “You must be careful my prince.”

 

“Nym only does it around people who already know,” Aegon said weakly. “She likes to play.”

 

Lemore sighed. “You are still such an innocent boy sometimes. It is admirable to see the good in others but do not let it blind you.”

 

Aegon grinned. “You almost sound like Arya.”

 

An emotion flickered over the septa’s face very quickly, so fast he could not identify what it was but for a moment he thought she looked guilty. She sighed and left him to his letter writing. He had so many he needed to send after spending a week not wanting to remember. The images of Gregor Clegane still stayed with him, both real and imagined but he now tried to think of them in conjunction with spilling Lannister blood. With that in mind he put his quill to parchment.

 

***

 

His hand was cramped and the stew brought for lunch was cold when Lord Connington came to his tent. Aegon looked up at him and blinked, trying to focus after squinting at the pages so long. Connington had been evading him since Aegon became increasingly worried about his injury. It did not matter how much Aegon urged him to let Haldon treat it he wouldn’t. Connington looked increasingly unsteady when they met earlier but he still refused attention.

 

 _I do not want him to die._  It would be like losing a father.

 

“Will you please reconsider seeing Haldon,” he pleaded, not caring what he sounded like. Orders did not work with Connington, not when it was about personal matters. The man was set in his ways.

 

“There is no need,” Connington replied gruffly. “How are the letters coming along?”

 

Aegon shot to his feet, his anger overriding his fear. “Why must you be so difficult? You will leave it too late and nobody will be able to help!” He felt tears trying to form, a remnant of his still fresh grief and he brushed roughly at his eyes.

 

_I won’t weep, that will get me nowhere._

 

“Calm yourself,” Connington replied, his tone losing most of its edge. “I saw somebody. The infection is gone.”

 

Aegon did not believe him but when he looked more closely he could see it was true. The hand was hidden inside a glove but the smell was gone along with all signs of fever. “How?” he asked in astonishment.

 

“It does not matter,” Connington said dismissively. “You no longer have need of concern.” He began to rifle through the parchment and Aegon knew to let the matter drop. Pressing him would only irritate Connington. They spent the remainder of the time before dinner speaking of arrangements to be made and meeting with the men tasked with putting those arrangements in place.

 

Aegon made sure to mingle with his men as well as the Northmen after dinner. Certain of them joined him in his tent before retiring. There were many remarks that they were pleased to see him well and he was angry at himself for allowing his loss to turn him into a child.  _I am a dragon_. He knew his behaviour had been unbecoming of a king.  _I will make up for it._

 

He slept restlessly, still plagued by nightmares. When he finished breaking his fast, he washed and dressed. The sting of the water against his face prompted him to call for a looking glass. It took an inordinate amount of time to retrieve one and he began to think they were stalling. In the end Lemore brought it in. By that point he had begun to worry about exactly how unsightly the scar would be.  _Arya did not think it bad._  Others stared but Arya had looked at him the same.

 

Aegon studied his reflection feeling embarrassed about his vanity. The man looking back at him had dark shadows under his eyes. He had not shaved and the wound on his face was red and far from healed. It still gaped a little but it  _was_  smaller than he originally thought. It still drew the eye though and he inspected it, lifting his fingers to touch it.

 

“You should try not to do that.”

 

Aegon looked up to see Arya approaching. Lemore retreated leaving them alone and he wondered again why she was avoiding Arya. His wonderings ceased as Arya reached his side and her fingers traced the unmarked side of his face.

 

“I did not see you yesterday,” he said, setting the looking glass down.

 

“I had many visitors,” she replied. “I could not get away.” She propped up her stick within reach, sat in the seat Lemore had vacated and let him kiss her forehead. “I think my uncle knows about us.”

 

Aegon froze in the middle of tucking a loose tendril of her hair behind her ear. “How does he know?”

 

Arya looked thoughtful. “I think I defended you too much when he said you had behaved improperly. What did you do when you visited me in my tent?”

 

Aegon did not need to ask which visit she meant. “It was little more than what I just did. I... kissed you. He thought I was drunk but I wasn’t, not completely. I did forget myself. When he became offended I might have said something reckless in my defence.”

 

“What did you say?” she looked more curious than angry.

 

“I think it was something about not doing anything to you if you did not wish it.”

 

Arya sighed. “It is the first time I have seen him look really disappointed with me.” She began to scratch at the end of her cast, her brow furrowed.

 

“I’ll speak with him,” Aegon offered.

 

Arya smiled, looking wistful. “I am not surprised at your offer but that would make things worse.” She scrunched up her face as she began to scratch the other end of the cast. “People would not judge me so if I was a man. Men visit whores and nothing is said about it.”

 

Aegon grinned. “I’m not a whore.”

 

She stopped her scratching to hit him. “Don’t be stupid. You know what I mean.”

 

He sighed. “I do know but it would make no difference if you were a man. Our birth-“

 

Arya cut him off with a noise of clear frustration. She composed herself quickly but her voice was sad when she spoke again. “My uncle compared one of us to Robb. I don’t know who he meant.”

 

Aegon thought of what he knew of Robb Stark and drew his own conclusion. Whatever Arya felt she always put her family and the North first.  _He meant me._  “You won’t be responsible for any mistakes on my part,” he said quickly.

 

“I know that,” she said in a determined voice. “There won’t be failure. My uncle is just worried but he does not need to be.”

 

She told him of small parties of Northmen being sent to Seagard and Raventree Hall. It was something planned before they were attacked. Now that the injured were recovering it was time to act. The men would treat with other Riverlands Houses as they passed them.

 

“Do you want some of my men to go with them?” he offered.

 

Arya shook her head. “They need to see that the North really is independent,” she explained. He could tell it was something she had been told but it made sense, even if Aegon did not like it.  _They were allied with the North once before._  “Ser Robett is going to lead the party to Raventree Hall. It will be strange not speaking with him until he returns.”

 

Aegon nodded. “He has given you very good counsel.”

 

Arya frowned. “It has been more than that. He is loyal and his brother died for me. I wish there was something I could do.”

 

Aegon thought seriously for a moment. “There is. You could raise him to lordship. You could do it yourself but I would confirm it if needed. His brother died for both of us.”

 

Some of his followers would be unhappy but he did not care. Titles would be given out based on merit and those who fought against Ser Gregor and survived were already lords with the exception of the Myrish priest, Ser Robett Glover and Sandor Clegane. He was grateful to Clegane but not so grateful that he would give him a lordship. The man was infamous and not for heroic deeds.

 

He was not sure what Arya thought at first. Her face was very still then a small smile appeared. “I thought he was a lord the first time I saw him.” She pressed a small kiss to his cheek then left him alone in the tent.

 

***

He did not see her again until just before dinner. Aegon knew he needed to get back to training so he ventured into the makeshift training area. It was difficult at first but he soon fell back into it. When he was finished he had lunch with Lady Nym and a quiet Connington before hearing grievances from his men. Most were about the delay to the march. He assured them they would move soon.

 

When Aegon ventured to Arya’s tent before dinner he was a little apprehensive. He was glad to find her alone but the sight of her surprised him. She stood balanced on her left foot, her injured right foot safely off the ground. The stick she used to help her walk was held in her right hand and she was wielding it against an imaginary opponent in a manner which made him realise exactly how skilled she was, even injured. Her back was to him.

 

“Aegon,” she greeted him without looking. She planted the stick on the ground and swivelled on her foot to face him without the slightest wobble. He did not bother to ask how she could do it. It would be another disturbing tale of torture inflicted by the faceless men and defended under the title of training. He still had not overcome the discovery that they blinded her.

 

“You are trying to train,” he said, stating the obvious.

 

Arya pulled a face. “I’m not trying, I’m succeeding.” Her hair had worked a little loose from the braids and he smiled to see her trying and failing to tame it. “I have to do it in here,” she explained. “Everybody thinks I am an invalid.” She sat and patted the stool next to her. He took the invitation.

 

“How much longer will you need the stick?” he asked, partly out of curiosity and partly because he had been pestered over when  _that Stark girl_  would be able to sit a horse.

 

Arya responded by crossing her right ankle over her left knee and prodding at it. Aegon was studying her closely and he saw the flicker of pain register in her face. “A day or two should do it. It doesn’t hurt much now.” She must have seen his doubtful expression because she became defensive. “I’m only keeping the stick  _now_  because my uncle and Haldon insist on it.”

 

Aegon sighed. “I should have expected you to be stubborn.”

 

She shook her head. “We need to move. I know what they are saying.”

 

_Of course you do._

“I’m sure the cast is bothering you more,” he said sympathetically.

 

She scowled in response and began to scratch at it again. “I’m just glad it isn’t broken. I’m counting down the days until it comes off. I told Haldon I would stay still but he insisted on the plaster.”

 

Aegon couldn’t help a grin. “That is because he knows you.”

 

Arya laughed but she stopped abruptly, her features falling into a frown. Aegon was about to ask what was the matter when he heard harsh laughter outside. He gave her a questioning look.

 

“It is the Hound,” she said sourly. “I’m trying to get gold so that I can make him leave. I still don’t know if it will work.”

 

Aegon could not help frowning as well. Arya became distracted and he left her to her training. She had the focused look he had seen before and he knew he would get little from her. Sandor Clegane was not far from the tent as he left it. He was speaking with knights from the Northern army and it did not look to be a friendly conversation. When he saw Aegon he broke away from them, his mouth twitching into what looked to be a smile.

 

Aegon did not really know what to think of the man. He had been sworn to the Lannisters and Aegon had heard the tales of what he did in their service and what he was rumoured to have done afterwards. He did take Arya captive and Aegon found that hard to get past. Having said that the man did save both of them but the circumstances made him uneasy.

 

Sandor took a knee with much less attitude than previously. “Your grace,” he murmured in his raspy voice.

 

Aegon told him to rise and come with him. Clegane looked surprised but he followed. Aegon saw men fall into step with them, their hands on their sword hilts and he wanted to tell them not to be foolish. If the Hound had wanted him dead he could have left him for Ser Gregor.

 

When they reached his tent Nymeria Sand was inside. Her face darkened when she saw Clegane but she remained silent. Aegon dismissed the guards but Nymeria stayed. He saw Sandor look at the Sand Snake, his composure slipping and Aegon smirked. Somebody had lit the brazier and she was only wearing her Dornish silks. He still remembered the first time he had seen her dressed like it, only a few days earlier and while partially under the influence of wine. He had not known where to look and she had laughed at him.

 

“I’m not trying to seduce you cousin,” she teased. “I just find it easier to coax secrets from men when I’m nearly naked.” When she saw his expression she laughed again. “I’m not wearing these for you. I’m quite sure I know your secrets and if I don’t you will soon tell me without the need for tricks.”

 

Aegon knew she must have had a plot in mind and his return had interrupted her. It made no matter, her presence was useful to him and he saw her rise to the challenge. There was a mischievous sparkle in her eye as he began to question Clegane.

 

“You are known as the Hound for your service to the Lannisters,” he began.

 

Lady Nym busied herself with pouring wine. Aegon refused but Sandor took the offered cup, eyed it suspiciously while trying not to look at the scantily clad woman leaning over him then downed it in one go.

 

“That is not me anymore,” he said abruptly. “I’m no one’s dog but my own.” He shot a sharp look at Nymeria. “I’ll have more wine so long as you’re not trying to poison me.”

 

Aegon stifled a laugh at the wounded expression on Nym’s face. “You wrong me,” she said before breaking into a sly smile. “The poison will wait until my cousin is done with you.”

 

Aegon shook his head when Clegane’s expression turned malevolent. “Nobody is being poisoned today,” he said smoothly.

 

Nymeria pouted. “You are no fun.” She perched on a stool and Aegon tried not to look in her direction. He had more success than Sandor.

 

Aegon cleared his throat and forced his thoughts back to more serious matters. “You burned your brother.”

 

Clegane snorted. “He burned me first. It seemed only fair.”

 

Nymeria’s laugh rang out like a chime but Aegon was disturbed. Sandor Clegane was known for his scars but Aegon had not known that Gregor was responsible for them. He remembered what Arya told him about how Sandor spoke about his brother.  _No wonder he hated him._

 

“I don’t know why people are concerned about me killing Gregor,” Clegane continued. “The bastard cared nothing about any of them. He wouldn’t have hesitated to kill them in their sleep.” He looked at Aegon closely. “Of course I don’t need to tell you about my brother.”

 

“He was already dead,” Aegon said slowly.

 

Clegane snorted. “I figured that when I saw his bloody head was gone.” His mouth twitched. “I knew much earlier though, that was why I left.”

 

“Left where?” Aegon asked.

 

Sandor looked at him closely before finishing his wine. “My place of atonement.”

 

They looked at each other a while and the silence was only broken when Nymeria refilled Clegane’s cup again. He grunted an acknowledgement. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

 

Aegon did not answer him. “You have much to atone for,” he said instead. There was no reaction. Aegon cleared his throat and hesitated. “Arya does not want you here.”

 

Clegane’s face tightened. “She still hasn’t forgiven me for that boy and for her mother.”

 

Aegon did not know why he leapt to her defence in front of this man but he did. “She has lost much. When it comes to her family she is unmoveable. I know you could not save Lady Catelyn and Arya knows that too but blaming you is easier.” He did not speak of the butcher boy. He had given his own guards orders in the past and they were sworn to obey. Still, he shuddered to think of giving such an order let alone having a person in his service who would carry it out so brutally.

 

“I tried to protect her sister,” Sandor said in such a low voice Aegon almost didn’t hear it. “I tried to get her out. A pretty girl that one, prettier than the wolf bitch and more grateful too.”

 

Aegon’s hands curled into fists almost involuntarily and Nymeria rose swiftly and put her hand on his shoulder. “You should be more careful what you say,” she said sweetly but he could hear the threatening undercurrent. “Poison will be the least of your problems if you are heard talking of a Stark in that manner here.”

 

Sandor curled his lip and paid her little mind. “I should have gotten her out of there before they married her to the imp.”

 

Aegon tensed. He did not like to be reminded of Tyrion. “Tyrion Lannister is dead,” he said quietly. Connington insisted he had just escaped but Aegon knew better. Somebody had taken him. Tyrion had wanted to return to Westeros with them, he knew that.  _He saved me_.

 

Clegane took the news differently. He laughed a harsh laugh. “That is bloody good news.” He flicked his gaze to Aegon who was still trying to calm himself. “I take it you still don’t know where the little bird is.”

 

Aegon had his jaw clenched so Nymeria responded instead. “Who is the little bird?” she asked, crossing her legs in a way that made Aegon flush and Sandor stare.

 

Sandor responded impatiently as he averted his eyes “The sister. She chirps her courtesies like a trained bird, not like the she-wolf.”

 

It did sound in line with what Aegon had heard of the Lady Sansa. Given the lack of knowledge of her recent years he wondered if it was still true.  _Our experiences change us_.

 

“I did hear she is beautiful,” Lady Nym said, her voice so very innocent. Aegon looked at her sharply before turning back to Clegane who was nodding agreement, his mouth twitching. “You seem most interested in her.” The man had tensed and Aegon realised his cousin was right. He became glad Arya was not here. Aegon was angry enough for both of them.

 

“Arya wants her sister found but not by you,” he said abruptly.

 

Sandor’s expression darkened. “There is worse than me out there.” His mouth twisted, emphasising the ruined part of his face. “I never hurt her, not like those bloody knights.”

 

Aegon pressed him for details and was sickened by the tale. The thought of kingsguard knights beating a girl for no reason... it was one of the worst abuses of power. His anger gave way to curiosity as Clegane spat and swore about the Lannisters. He caught Nymeria’s eye and saw she was listening intently. When there was a break in the conversation Aegon cut in.

 

“Arya told me she is organising gold for you.”

 

His mouth twitched again. “Aye, she is.”

 

“It will take her time. In the meantime I am wondering if there is something you might do.” He saw Lady Nym give him a warning look but he pressed on. “I have something I want delivered to Cersei Lannister. Nym can you get the helm and the cloak?”

 

She looked at him as though she thought him quite mad but she collected the burnt and caved in helm and the bloodstained cloak nonetheless. Part of the dented in section of the helm still showed the white plate. He rose and went to his pile of parchment, selecting the almost finished letter he had not been sure how to send. He quickly finished it off and sealed it.

 

Clegane was looking from the helm and cloak to him with an almost amused expression. “You want me to take this to Cersei? I’d be mad to march into the Red Keep.”

 

Aegon shook his head. “You don’t need to go into the Red Keep. You merely need to make sure she gets those and the letter. Arya told me how you got into the Twins. I know you can be resourceful. When you return you will have your gold.”

 

“Why send the cloak?” Sandor asked. “She won’t care about your knight.”

 

Aegon smiled a grim smile. “She will care by the time I am done.”

 

Clegane took the helm, cloak and sealed letter. “Why are you sending me?”

 

 _I did not want to get any of my own men killed._ Sandor gave a raspy laugh and Aegon suspected he had read his thoughts. “You said to Arya you might be of service,” he said instead. “Now you can prove it.”

 

After Clegane left Nym all but hissed at him. “Have you lost your senses? He is a brute, just like his brother.”

 

“Nobody is like his brother,” Aegon said defensively. “Besides, if he betrays me, Arya will kill him.”

 

Nymeria rose and paced the tent. “Not if I get to him first.”

 

“You can tell him that if you like. He will probably laugh but it might be good for him to know.”

 

She softened a little. “I should kill him anyway. It would be blood for blood. Clegane blood should be spilled for my father and for your mother.”

 

Aegon shook his head again. “He is not his brother. We will not kill him without cause. This is his test.”

 

Nym moved closer and gave him her hand. He pressed his lips to it as he knew she wished. “Cousin you are too generous but at least you are quicker to act than my uncle.”

 

“You will get your chance Nym,” he said softly. “I wish it as much as you and Arya do.”

 

She squeezed his hand gently. “I do not doubt it.”

 

***

Clegane left late the next day. The following day the march resumed. Arya no longer needed the stick to aid her movement. Aegon watched her mount her horse. The cast seemed to hinder her little. He saw her personal guards gather around her protectively. He glanced at her at intervals during the day and more than once caught her looking at him, deep in thought.

 

When they stopped to camp he did not get to speak with her. He heard somebody say something about fetching a maester and was concerned. When he visited her tent before retiring he found her uncle inside. The Blackfish tensed but he did not glower at him as he had the last time they saw each other. If anything he just looked resigned.

 

“I see you are recovered Ser,” he said politely.

 

Ser Brynden sighed. “I am but that is not why you are here. She is resting.” He shook his head. “She spent too long ahorse today.”

 

Aegon knew he should leave but he hesitated. “She is too stubborn. We could have stopped earlier.”

 

Ser Brynden smiled at that. “Arya would never have allowed it.”

 

Aegon knew it to be the truth. “What did the maester say?” he pressed, knowing he had no right to ask but unable to help himself.

 

The Blackfish frowned. “One of the maesters who travelled with us is gone. He gave no reason. The other was tending to people so Arya refused to have him called.”

 

Aegon began to retreat. “I will tell Haldon to come.”

 

Haldon was with Connington who scowled when he heard of the missing maester. He said nothing though and Haldon hurried off to see Arya. When he returned he dismissed Aegon’s concerns.

 

“It was only too much too soon your grace,” he said, his mouth forming an unhappy line. “She will adjust.”

 

Aegon slept fitfully as he had since the attack. When the march resumed the next day he saw that Arya had taken her place again. Lady Nym rode with her for a time but Aegon did not hear her speak much. When Aegon guided his horse alongside Arya she gave him a small smile. A light snow had begun to fall and she had flakes in her hair.

 

“We could stop early today,” he offered. “It is snowing.”

 

He could tell Arya had seen through his excuse. She lifted her chin defiantly. “This can hardly be called snow. There is no reason to stop early.” He was just trying to put off the person calling him away when she spoke to him again, this time less abruptly. “Your cousin tells me you are still dreaming. You look very tired.”

 

Aegon was not surprised he looked tired but he wondered what Nym was playing at.  _I hope she did not tell Arya too much of my nights._  He had woken twice to find camp followers in his tent. He did not know whether they had become bold after the rumours from the Inn or whether certain of his men were trying to win favour now they believed he was not so averse to whores. The first time had been humiliating. Aegon was groggy and mistook the girl for Arya. When he realised his mistake she put on a demure act.

 

“I can pretend m’lord.”

 

Nym was far closer than he had realised and she found it highly entertaining as the girl was ejected from his tent. When she saw exactly how unhappy he was though she did something. The second girl did not fool him and there were no more after that. From then on it was Nymeria who woke him if the dreams became too bad.

 

He met Arya’s concerned gaze now. “It is nothing,” he said dismissively.

 

They separated again and after making camp Aegon was kept busy. They would reach Pinkmaiden in a day. He hoped for a positive reception.  _It would be nice to sleep in a castle_. He crawled into his bed, leaving candles burning. It seemed no time before the dreams began again. They had changed. He no longer saw only Ser Gregor, Duck and Arya. Images of dragons were woven into his sleep. It always began pleasantly, he would feel excitement before it turned to claw and flame and death.

 

Aegon jerked awake trying to resist the person in his bed when they touched him. She did not take the hint. As he regained his full senses he recognised the voice before seeing it was her.

 

“Arya,” he whispered in disbelief. “How are you here?”

 

She did not answer him and he willingly accepted her embrace, the soft touch of her fingers down his back as he buried his head against the front of her tunic. Aegon was greedy for the comfort she offered, wanting her close and not wanting to let her go. Her murmurings were soothing and it was a few moments before he realised her cast was gone. He touched her arm and she understood the wordless question.

 

“I still have to be careful but Haldon says it has healed enough that I don’t need plaster.”

 

He took her hand in his and pressed his lips to it. His eye was drawn to a rather larger than usual pile of knives discarded next to the bed. Arya saw him looking and her eyes were sad.

 

“After what happened I wanted to be better prepared.”

 

Aegon did not want her thinking of it. He did not want to think of it himself. He kissed her, catching her lip with his teeth until she allowed his tongue access to brush against hers. He had not realised how desperately he needed her until he felt her pressed close to him. His hands roamed every inch of skin he could reach but it wasn’t enough. Her breathing was ragged as he pulled at her tunic, lifting it to press tender kisses against her chest.

 

Arya was trying to keep quiet but he relished the little noises she made to indicate he was pleasing her. It was not until he began to pull at the laces on her breeches that he realised that although she was not resisting him, she was not actively taking part either.

 

“Please Arya,” he whispered, his lips leaving a trail from behind her ear down her neck. “I need you to want me too.”

 

“I do,” she said in a faltering voice and as he reached inside her breeches he knew it was true. She was wet and she whimpered loudly as soon as he touched her.

 

“Then what is it,” he asked before he realised how stupid he was. “It is too soon isn’t it?” He began to pull back, feeling shame but she whined and wouldn’t let him.

 

“You won’t hurt me. You would never hurt me.” She said it with such certainty he had to believe it. She embraced him, holding him to her as he finished what he had started. Their coupling was gentle rather than their usual passionate encounters. Aegon used as much restraint as he could, silently seeking reassurance from her which she readily gave. Any doubts that might have lingered were removed by Arya’s breathy moan of “Oh gods Aegon,” right before he spilled his seed.

 

They reversed their usual positions afterwards, with Aegon seeking her embrace. He rested his head at her breast. Arya showed more affection than usual, caressing him for some time and bestowing little kisses on him.

 

“Nym sent you didn’t she?” he finally asked. “Where is she?”

 

“In my bed,” she replied and Aegon noted the lack of a denial. “She has been visiting me of a night.”

 

Aegon tensed and felt more guilty. He tried to pull away. “She should not have made you come here.” Arya stopped him moving.

 

“I came because I wanted to,” she said firmly. “Are the dreams getting any better?”

 

Aegon didn’t know what to tell her so he didn’t answer.  _I cannot tell her_. He could not tell anybody. Targaryens dreaming of dragons and destruction was not a good sign. She tightened her embrace and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

 

The next time she spoke was on a different topic. Her fingers caught his chin and lifted it so that he would look at her. “I know what you did.” Her eyes were shining. “You sent the Hound away.”

 

Aegon sighed. “Don’t be too excited. If Clegane doesn’t betray us he will be back for his gold.”

 

Arya took his hand in hers. “If he does betray us Nymeria will kill him.”

 

“Which one?” Aegon asked, slightly amused.

 

Arya laughed quietly. “Mayhaps it will be both.”

 

He remembered what Lemore had said and fell silent. It was not long before Arya prodded him. “What bothers you?”

 

“Lemore said something about Nym. She thinks I am acting blindly because I won’t distance myself.” He braced himself for an identical lecture but it didn’t come.

 

“This time you are right,” she said softly, running her fingers up and down his arm. “I don’t believe your cousin would harm you. Blood is important to her.”

 

Aegon worried for a moment exactly what his cousin and Arya spoke about before deciding it didn’t matter. He felt calm and sated when he finally fell into a dreamless sleep even though he knew when he woke Arya would be gone.

 


	66. Chapter 66

**Chapter 66**

 

Arya slipped from Aegon’s grasp to return to her own tent. She watched him a moment before leaving. He looked content in his sleep. It was a far cry from how she had found him. Nymeria Sand told her he had violent nightmares and she knew that from the last time she stayed with him but she had expected it to fade. His reaction when she asked him about it suggested he was worse.

 

She pulled her cloak around her and moved quiet as a shadow under cover of darkness. When she made it to her tent she stopped still by her bed. Lady Nym was fast asleep, clutching tight to Arya’s pillow.  _Good to know she doesn’t wake as easily as I do._  Arya had hoped to get a little more rest. She was much better but still weakened. It was most frustrating feeling so worn out from a day of riding.

 

Arya perched on a stool instead shooting another look at the Dornishwoman. It did not matter if she was found in Arya’s bed. The Blackfish had already found her there a couple of days earlier. At the time Arya was trying not to argue with her. Ser Brynden looked puzzled when he saw the two of them.

 

“Good morning Ser,” Nymeria had said, acting as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

 

The Blackfish gave Arya a questioning look. “She wouldn’t leave,” Arya explained.

 

Lady Nym looked offended and if Arya had not been trained in seeing lies she might have been fooled. “It is so cold here,” she said in a wounded voice. “It would help me keep warm. Sharing a bed is not unusual in Dorne.” She then smiled wickedly. “Mayhaps I should have visited your uncle’s tent instead.”

 

Arya’s training fled her and she knew she blushed. Ser Brynden laughed loudly and exited the tent and Arya saw a spark of satisfaction in the Dornishwoman’s eyes.

 

“You blush very prettily your grace,” she said in a teasing tone. She knew full well Arya hated that title. “I must say it is most reassuring. I thought I would never get any emotion from you. How  _do_  you do that anyway?”

 

Arya hadn’t answered. That was the day Sandor Clegane had left. She studied the woman in her bed. She still wasn’t sure exactly what to make of her but what Arya told Aegon was the truth. Nymeria Sand was no threat to him. Arya had seen it in every conversation she had with the woman. While she tried to determine whether the Lady Nym was a threat to Aegon or her family, the Dornishwoman was trying to determine the same thing of her. The Martells protected each other whether they wore the name or not. Arya respected that.

 

Once Aegon’s cousin had determined Arya was not a threat to him she had decided they must spend time together. She told Arya things, things Aegon had yet to share with her. She often shared them in a teasing tone but Arya read the intent. It was Lady Nym who told her of Sandor Clegane being sent to King’s Landing and Lady Nym who told her of Aegon’s tortured sleep. Her motive was to urge Arya to see him but Arya did not need to be urged. She did wonder why Nymeria was pushing her towards Aegon before remembering what Connington told her of Dorne.

 

_Daenerys’ dragons killed her cousin._

 

Arya sighed thinking of Aegon. She still planned to follow through on what she and Connington discussed. She would leave before Daenerys arrived. Until then Arya would do what was needed. Connington, Aegon and Nymeria all told her she made him better. It made no matter. Even if there weren’t dragons Arya had obligations elsewhere.  _I have to return to the North_. Arya needed to go back once the Lannisters were defeated. She missed the castle but more than that she missed Rickon. Arya also hoped that once she returned she might visit Jon. Winterfell would survive her making a short trip North and the Watch would need her new allies.

 

_I will help Aegon succeed until I have to go. I will make him understand what he has to do._

Aegon thought he needed her. Arya could see he believed it and mayhaps it was true right now. Thoughts of her parents came to her unbidden. She remembered them together, her father taking her mother’s counsel and vice versa. She quickly shook the thoughts away.  _I do not need Aegon_. Despite what Aegon thought right now he would realise in time he did not need her.

 

She touched her fingers to her lips without thinking, remembering how he had touched her. It was not planned. Arya did not go there for that. Her pulse quickened remembering what he had whispered to her as he kissed her.  _He isn’t yours stupid, no matter how many times he says it._ He made her feel good though. When he was inside her she forgot everything that hurt, everything that had been taken from her. He made her feel safe for a brief time even though she knew there was no such thing as safe.

 

She was still sore, especially after riding but when Aegon’s hands had begun to roam and she had seen and felt how badly he wanted her she did not want to disappoint him. When he realised and tried to pull away it only made her want him more. She knew then he would not hurt her and he hadn’t. He was not like other men she had known. Arya might have given him her maidenhead but there were things she had done as no one, things Aegon had not been told. He did not know that there were missions where Arya had to let men think they might have her. The House of Black and White chose a pretty face for a reason and Aegon was not the first man to touch her. There had been no kisses, no attempts to please her, they just pawed and groped at her until she ended them. Those missions had been the easy ones.

 

Aegon was the first to make her like being touched by a man. He earned her trust first, they were friends. Arya had forgotten herself with him earlier. He treated her with affection and instead of trying to claim her by force when she was worried this time he treated her as though she was precious instead. He looked after her. He was the first person since Jon way back before Arya left for King’s Landing to do so. Nobody had looked out for her like he did in years.

 

 _Father tried to look out for me too._ That memory hurt. She had friends who cared for her too, Gendry who had been there for her but that seemed so long ago now. It was Aegon who had made her feel safe to be Arya again, who made her feel as though Arya Stark was wanted.

 

She could picture Aegon lying in her arms, looking up at her with those startling violet eyes. Arya had snorted with Duck and even Haldon about the way people spoke of them. The men liked to say no woman would have turned Aegon down if he had visited their bedchambers. If he was not surrounded by guards Arya did not doubt some of them might have invaded his chambers of their own accord.

 

His eyes were beautiful but Arya had seen many handsome and beautiful faces. She had seen servants of the House of Black and White wear handsome faces but the beauty was not real. Arya did not bed him because he was handsome. She bedded him because he was good to her and better than she deserved. That was why she kept touching him and kissing him as he lay in her arms. He wanted it, she saw that in the curve of his lips, the way he responded to her hands and so tonight she had given it willingly. Now that she was away from him she saw the folly of it. She told herself it made no difference, Aegon already sought her affection but she knew she should not encourage it too much.

 

 _I may as well keep visiting him until I leave._ Until he married he was not going to forget her when she was so close. She had learned that.  _Men are like that though_. Arya had seen it of the men in the camp. They thought her oblivious, a blushing maiden who just covered it well but she saw. The same camp followers frequented the same tents and she heard the fights when another man encroached.

 

Movement in her bed took her mind away from it and she became aware of Nymeria Sand smirking at her.

 

“If you are not going to use your own bed you might as well have stayed in his.”

 

Arya had her response ready. “You had hold of my pillow and you left no space for me.” Lady Nym shifted over and Arya climbed into the bed, turning her back to the other woman. “You have your own bed you know.”

 

“Yes,” Nymeria replied and Arya could tell by her tone that she was about to make a jape. “Is it only me you don’t want to share with or are you only interested in my cousin’s company?”

 

Arya sighed. “You can stay.” She had shared a bed quite a lot. Sharing did not bother her but since her training it was harder. Arya trusted less and she still did not know Nymeria. Also, the Dornishwoman did not visit Arya to sleep. She talked quite a lot and sometimes about things Arya did not want to talk about.

 

“Did you never share a bed with your sister?” Nymeria asked, almost as though she had read Arya’s thoughts.

 

“I don’t want to speak of Sansa,” Arya said quietly.

 

“You did not get along?”

 

Arya remembered her father’s words.  _The same blood flows through both our hearts_. Arya still felt anger towards Sansa but it had faded. Arya wanted to see Sansa and have her back at Winterfell, even if it meant that Arya had to hear about how much better Sansa was at everything. Aegon asked her about her sister sometimes and she spoke of Sansa to him but she would not speak of her to his cousin.

 

“You should be staying close to Aegon,” she said, changing the subject. “You are better than his guards.”

 

“I am,” Nymeria responded agreeably. “Would you prefer me in  _his_  bed?” Arya willed herself not to react and failed. Lady Nym must have felt her tense and she laughed. “I am japing. You will need to get used to the idea sometime,” she continued on. “Aegon tells me you plan to leave.”

 

Arya burrowed down in the bed, pulling the furs closer.  _Please just let me sleep._  The urge to escape took hold and the smells of trees and earth grew strong. Arya had four legs instead of two and no injuries, not even healing ones. Her pack was growing again, now that the direwolf ran some distance from the men but they were hungry. The slaver ran from her jaws as they came across a stray horse. She pulled it down with ease and her brothers and sisters feasted with her.

 

***

 

When Arya woke again Nymeria Sand was gone. Cara was moving swiftly around the tent, putting everything in place for Arya to break her fast, change clothes if she wished and even sharpen her knives. The Freys had often treated her ill and she had begun in constant fear of displeasing Arya. That had now changed to attempts to please her rather than worry of displeasing her. Her fingers lingered on the whetstone and she looked at Arya shyly.

 

“Have you eaten?” Arya asked. When Cara shook her head she motioned to her. “Join me.”

 

The young woman looked frightened. Arya looked at the food in front of her. There was more than enough.

 

“You won’t get in trouble,” Arya told her.

 

“I have more work to do your grace,” Cara said in a timid voice.

 

Arya knew what she referred to. While Arya had been injured Cara had taken on more responsibility. She shook her head.

 

“I will help.”

 

It took a bit more coaxing before she gave in and they ate together. Arya ate quickly and finished first. She then took the whetstone and worked on the knives while Cara watched curiously. It was only a quick sharpen. They weren’t very dull. She leapt to her feet when she was done, trying to ignore the dull twinge in her ankle where she had rolled it slightly in her haste. Cara’s mouth was a little agape as Arya stored the knives on her person.

 

“Shall we pack up?”

 

On her way out to find her horse Arya passed Lemore. The septa shot a smile in her direction and moved a little faster. Arya recalled what Aegon had said the night before.  _I must speak with her_. They had gotten along at Storm’s End. It felt strange to be so distant from somebody who was a friend.

 

Arya was adjusting to riding again. Her ankle did not bother her much and she tried to rest her still healing arm by holding the reins in one hand. The arm didn't hurt but she wanted to save it for when it was really needed. She knew she had little cause for complaint. The She-Bear was much worse off. Lady Maege had been forced to ride in a wagon until they reached Pinkmaiden. If the welcome was warm Arya would ask that the Lady of Bear Island be allowed to stay until her leg healed.

 

The snow fell heavier than it had the previous day and the men were cheery when they reached the castle by late afternoon. Arya rode ahead once Ser Brynden confirmed that it was safe. Her uncle was to lead a small party into Pinkmaiden and Arya was determined to be part of it. Her guards accompanied her until they approached the gates. The sentries eagerly opened the gates when they heard that Brynden Tully wished to speak with Lord Clement Piper.

 

Arya saw the people of the castle look at her curiously as she passed. They whispered of wolves and she gave them a smile which showed her teeth. Lord Piper was a short man with wild, bushy red hair. Greetings were brief but Arya could see the man’s eagerness under his brusque manner.

 

“You have my son, your grace?” he asked, looking to Arya. “I had to bend the knee, you understand that?” He looked worried.

 

“I understand my lord,” Arya reassured him. “We do what we must for family. Your son is in the camps with the Northmen. He will be on his way here shortly.”

 

Lord Clement dropped to his knee and took hold of her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. Arya was taken aback. When he lifted his head Arya could see that he was emotional.

 

“They still have Lewys,” he said. “I could not risk both sons. My castle is yours your grace for as long as you wish it.”

 

Arya felt a little embarrassed and asked him to rise. He was bowlegged and did so awkwardly.

 

“Others are awaiting you, both Lords Vance are among them. We have heard much.” A cautious smile spread across his face. “They are in retreat.”

 

Arya looked to her uncle. He had clasped Lord Clement’s arm when they met but he stayed silent up until now. Arya was not sure how to raise the subject of the alliance.

 

“The prince will wish to meet with you,” she said hesitantly. “Will you allow it?”

 

Lord Clement raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Do I have a choice?”

 

“Yes,” Arya said quickly. “You do not have to see him if you do not wish it.” Both Lord Clement and the Blackfish were looking at her. Lord Clement looked sceptical while her uncle appeared uneasy. “It’s true,” she said fiercely. “He won’t be happy but he won’t march his army on the castle because of it.”

 

Ser Brynden sighed. “It would be in your interest to meet with him. He and his men did play a large part in freeing the prisoners from the Twins. I expect you will find him reasonable. It can wait until after you have reunited with Marq.”

 

Arya walked out into the yard of the castle with her uncle thinking on what was said. When they reached the gates she gave the orders for those who were to enter the castle. Ser Marq Piper passed her on the way, looking exceedingly pleased to be home.

 

“I said something wrong didn’t I?” Arya asked the Blackfish when they had a moment. The supplies, baggage and horses were being brought into the castle ready for their stay.

 

“Not wrong,” her uncle replied. “You were honest.”

 

Arya frowned. “I should have said what you said instead.” She hated politics. It was always games with words and even though Arya had learned how to play games with words she did not like it. She was better at it when dealing with a foe or a potential foe. Lord Piper was just a father who wanted his son back.

 

***

Arya was settling into the chambers she had been given in the castle. Cara smiled as she moved around the room and it was so unusual that Arya wanted to smile too.

 

“You are pleased to be in a castle Cara?”

 

“Yes your grace,” the handmaid replied dutifully.

 

“You  _can_  call me Arya you know.”

 

Cara looked as though she would rather swallow her own tongue so Arya did not push it. A bath was being prepared and Arya undressed and lowered herself into the water with a sigh. It had been warmed for her and the warmth felt good as it worked its way into her aching muscles. Cara quickly went to work washing her hair and combing out the tangles. That part was less pleasant.

 

“Will you want a dress for dinner your grace?”

 

Arya tensed. She had not thought of what might be expected of her. At the Dreadfort, Moat Cailin and the Twins she was the leader of the Northern army, not a lady. Japes were made about her wearing men’s clothes but those were made behind her back and with time they became fewer. Men in Aegon’s army persisted in it but she ignored it as best she could. Now she was a guest in a castle, getting ready to attend a dinner.

 

“Do you think it will be expected?” she asked uncertainly. Arya had worn dresses on occasion in Braavos when necessary but Westerosi style was different. She had never fitted in as a lady and that had been clear in Storm’s End.

 

Cara paused with the comb. “Not if you don’t wish it your grace.” She sounded worried and Arya knew she was afraid she had displeased her. Arya sighed and took her hand to give it a slight squeeze.

 

“I am not angry Cara. I am just not good at being a lady.”

 

Cara relaxed and Arya shifted so that her back could be scrubbed.

 

“I think you are a good lady your grace,” Cara said in an almost inaudible voice.

 

Arya would have wanted to hug her if she wasn’t in the bath and didn’t think it would frighten Cara further. She still did not like baths but Cara was gentle and the scrubbing was a little soothing. She finished with the soap and climbed out of the tub, taking the towelling cloth from Cara and drying herself. She pulled on her breeches and chose a long tunic to wear over them. It was very baggy and Cara fetched a belt to cinch it in at the waist.

 

Arya was just beginning to resist Cara’s attempt to style her hair when there was a knock at the door. Cara answered it and began to make timid excuses to deny entry to the visitor.

 

“Her grace is not ready-“

 

She was clearly intimidated. “Let them in Cara,” Arya said softly. When the door opened it was the Blackfish. He smiled when he saw her and shook his head slightly. Before Arya could dwell on it he began to speak of conversation with Lord Piper and Ser Marq. Arya hurriedly fixed her hair so that it was out of the way and began to walk with him to the Great Hall. She shot a quick smile over her shoulder at Cara as she left but the handmaid was already busying herself with tidying the room. Arya wanted to tell her to leave it but realised there would be no point.

 

When she reached the Great Hall Arya was led to one of the places of honour. Nobody said anything to her but people looked. When she cast her eyes around the hall she saw that she was the only woman not wearing a gown. Nymeria Sand sat by Aegon looking effortlessly beautiful. She had dressed in a Southron style dress and her hair was bound up in an intricate style with some sort of gold wire.

 

Arya looked down at her plate and wished she had Nymeria with her, the direwolf not the person. Nymeria didn’t care what she wore and with the wolf by her side nobody dared to judge her. She felt her for a moment, loping through the woods near the castle.  _She would come if I needed her._

 

She lifted her chin high when dinner was finished and the men fell into conversation. Arya forgot all about dresses when the Greatjon rose and began to retell tales of the attack on the Twins. Tom began to play music for the ladies and when the singing began none of it seemed to matter anymore.

 

She passed Lemore on her way out of the Great Hall when it became late. The septa began to make excuses and Arya caught her arm, remembering what Aegon had said.

 

“I know this is a poor time but I need to speak with you.”

 

Lemore looked resigned and Arya walked with her back to her chambers. Arya motioned for her to sit and Lemore did so, albeit reluctantly.

 

“Aegon told me you do not trust Nymeria Sand.  She makes you uneasy doesn’t she?”

 

“Yes,” Lemore admitted, her purple eyes darting away from Arya’s gaze. “That is not unusual though,” she said lightly “Prince Oberyn’s daughters do have a reputation. I just want the prince to be careful.”

 

Arya ignored her reasons. She could see they were lies. “Is it because you are worried she will uncover your secrets?”

 

Lemore stiffened and Arya knew she was right. “I feared you were going to want to speak of this.”

 

Arya shook her head. “I know you are hiding things but it was not my business. You don’t have to avoid me because of it. You also should not try to discourage Aegon from knowing his cousin. She is on his side.”

 

Lemore sighed and adjusted her septa robes. “You are wrong.”

 

Arya’s anger flared. “I am not. Lady Nym is not an enemy.”

 

Lemore smiled a sad smile. “No, I meant that it is your business... your family’s business,” She stood and walked towards Arya, cupping her chin and looking into her face with a fond expression. Arya was confused but she did not resist her. “I knew your uncle a long time ago. You remind me of him sometimes. He had a wild streak too.”

 

Arya felt her confusion deepen. “You knew uncle Benjen?” She realised her mistake instantly by Lemore’s reaction. “Oh, you knew my uncle Brandon.” She remembered now that her father had said Brandon was wild, both him and her aunt. Lemore looked sad. “When did you meet my uncle Brandon? He died before the war.”

 

Lemore was silent for a while and Arya thought she wouldn’t answer. She looked at Arya a long time and took a step back, looking nervous. “I met him at Harrenhal at the tourney. I was there with Aegon’s mother.”

 

“You knew Aegon’s mother?” Arya blurted in surprise. “Why haven’t you told him?”

 

Lemore’s hands fluttered nervously. “I have told him what I know of her but I am supposed to be dead. After the war when your father came to see me in Dorne-“ She stopped abruptly and paled.

 

Arya looked at her closely as Lemore tried to avoid her gaze. Arya had already suspected she was Dornish. It was the best explanation for her violet eyes. Arya knew that it was a trait some of the Dornish had. Ned Dayne also had eyes which looked purple. She sucked in her breath at the realisation and looked at the septa.  _I bet her being a septa is a lie too. Everything she said was a lie._

 

“My father saw Ashara Dayne when he went to Dorne. She killed herself and people say he broke her heart.”

 

“No,” Lemore whispered “It was not him. Your father was... kind.”

 

Arya tried to calm herself. “You are Ashara. Why would you do that? Why pretend you are dead?”

 

The older woman’s eyes filled with tears. “I lost my child. Her father was dead and the spider came before your father did and whispered that I was needed. Another child needed me.”

 

“Aegon,” Arya guessed. Lemore looked at her imploringly and reached out to touch her cheek. “You want me to keep your secrets.”

 

The hand remained at her cheek and a tear rolled down Lemore’s... Ashara’s face. “I sometimes wonder what she might have been like if she lived. Her hair was your colour but I never got to see her eyes. Seeing you makes me wonder.”

 

Arya felt a surge of pity. She made every effort to make sure Aegon’s seed did not take root. She could not imagine how it would feel having a child grow inside her only to have it born dead. Even thinking about it hurt.

 

“Did Uncle Brandon know?” Arya asked.

 

“He did not answer my letters. I do not know if he read them. He was betrothed to another.”

 

_He was betrothed to my mother._

 

Arya took her hand. There would be little gain in telling Aegon. She would not lie to him but it was not something he would ask. “I won’t tell.”

 

Lemore- Arya would keep calling her Lemore because she had to- held Arya’s hand tightly and leaned to kiss her cheek. “Thank you.”

 

***

Arya’s time was well occupied at Pinkmaiden. Although both she and Aegon were eager to reach King’s Landing it was necessary to delay the action. Aegon contacted Dorne to make sure their forces would be in place. Arya wrote to the Riverlands houses near Pinkmaiden. They could not have too many men. The city would not fall easily.

 

Brynden Tully left with some of Lord Piper’s men to meet with the two Lord’s Vance. Arya offered to go with him but he said it would be best if she stayed. She became annoyed but he simply smiled.

 

“Your brother Robb did not do all these things himself. I have your letters, you have done your part. I am merely treating with them and they will speak with you when I bring them here.”

 

“You expect them to come,” she said hopefully.

 

He nodded “I do.”

 

She rode out with him a short way and he gave her one of his brightest smiles. They left via a path through the woods and Arya could feel Nymeria close by. The direwolf would come if Arya needed her, she knew that but she did not  _need_  her now. For now she let her be.

 

When she returned to the castle she resumed her training. She spent time quietly gathering information. That was the easy part. The physical training was harder. Her men thought she should be resting. Arya could tell Aegon thought so too but he finally relented and said he would train with her.

 

He shed his guards and they trained in the dark where nobody could see them. There was a yard near the stables where they would be alone. It was a different sort of training, Arya wanted to be challenged and she wanted to test herself more than the usual sparring against the men. It would not be solely evasion. Aegon held back at first until Arya got angry with him and accidentally inflicted a couple of bruises with her blunted sword proving to him she would not break. By the time they were done with their session Aegon had landed blows of his own. Arya had the better of their matches but Aegon still looked horrified at having hit her even though the impact was negligible.

 

“Every bruise is a lesson and every lesson makes you better,” Arya said, remembering Syrio and feeling sad.

 

Aegon promptly took her mind off it, coaxing her into a secluded area of the stables. The moon shone through the opening catching the silver in his hair. Arya did not get much time to notice it before he was kissing her, his hands gripping her waist to hold her close. She responded eagerly, her fingers curling in his hair.

 

She led him to the loft, laughing as he stumbled in his eagerness. He made a game of it, pretending to chase her as she climbed. Somebody had a straw mattress set up there but they were alone now. It was cold out and the air chilled her skin but Aegon kept her warm enough. She felt free, not bothering to stifle her responses to him. She had no fear of being overheard. He picked straw out of her hair and off her clothes afterwards, an amused smile on his lips.

 

“That was different.”

 

Arya shrugged. “I’ve never cared about getting dirty.”

 

His smile widened. “I should train with you more often.”

 

Aegon did not want to go back to the castle yet so they stayed there, speaking in high valyrian while he traced patterns on her skin. He asked her questions of dragons. Arya had learned much while with the House of Black and White. It was not the first time they had spoken of it but he did seem more intense in his interest now.

 

_He will see them when he meets Daenerys._

 

Visiting the yard and their spot in the stables at night became routine for them over the next days until her uncle returned. She knew Cara saw her bruises but the handmaid did not comment. During the day Arya donned her crown and spoke with her men and those left behind in the castle. She visited the camps. They went riding in smaller groups, Aegon and his guards usually accompanying them and spoke with the villagers. Lady Nym stayed close by, alternating between teasing of what she knew of Arya’s “training” and sprouting on about what she would do to the Lannisters when they reached the city.

 

Arya nights were a reminder of what had to be. After they sparred and after they had had pleased each other, learning more of each other’s bodies than Arya knew was wise, she spoke with Aegon. She resumed teaching him some Braavosi and the Old Tongue but she also prompted him to tell her his plans, not just for the remainder of the war but for afterwards. He faltered at first, particularly when she insisted it was to be  _his_  plans, she had no part in it but then he accepted albeit unhappily. They avoided speaking of marriage. Arya spoke of her plans to return North and while she could see it bothered him he did not argue. He did however interrupt her often, kissing away her words and coaxing her into wanting him again. She knew what he was doing but as long as he heard what she said she would let it go.

 

He never wanted to sleep and he would not tell her why. She began to realise he was afraid. They stayed in the loft a little longer on the last night before her uncle returned. Aegon’s eyelids were drooping and she asked him once more about his dreams.

 

“They are just dreams,” he said defensively.

 

“They bother you,” she said gently. “You can tell me anything. You normally do.”

 

Aegon reacted badly. “Not for much longer,” he said bitterly.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” she said, trying not to be angry. “If you don’t want to tell me then don’t tell me but don’t blame me for something that isn’t my fault. You always knew I had to leave.”

 

His mouth twisted. “It’s not my fault either. Anyway, you don’t tell me about your dreams so why should I?”

 

He had her there. Arya couldn’t answer him.  _I can’t tell him that I dream of my brother hiding in a cave under the earth_. They weren’t dreams really and she knew that. She could feel Bran. She felt him sometimes during the day but at night it was stronger. It was the raven, she knew that now. Bran was in it just as she was and when she was close to it the connection grew. Aegon knew of her wolf dreams and accepted those but this was different. She hadn’t realised he knew of the change and telling him would make her sound mad.

 

She got up, adjusting her clothes before climbing down the ladder from the loft. She saw Aegon’s mouth open as if to say something and knew by his expression what he was thinking.  _Don’t go._  He did not say it though. His pride would not let him just as her pride would not let her stay.

 

Arya focused on her uncle and the new arrivals the next day. Nymeria Sand drew up alongside her and gave her a questioning look but Arya ignored her. She could not think of Aegon now. There would be time yet to make peace. She adjusted the crown on her head, disliking how heavy it felt despite it being a lightweight design. It was time for Arya to do her duty both to the North, her family and to Aegon. The expectations weighed on her but she would not neglect her duty no matter how much she wanted to.

 

She had learned from her error with Lord Piper and would not let her guard down again. Her uncle nodded and smiled as he introduced the Riverlands lords to her and Arya held her head high and said the things she needed to say, using the skills she had learned with the faceless men. Aegon caught her eye once and she only gave him the briefest acknowledgement, nothing more than what was expected. She was a Stark and she would be strong, just as her father had been.                                                                  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went with the Lemore is Ashara theory because even though I'm not sold on it, it suited me for the purposes of this fic


	67. Chapter 67: Tyrion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally aimed for witty Tyrion but he did not cooperate and I wound up with bitter Tyrion instead. Oh well, at least you will see what he is thinking even if it is not the Tyrion I prefer. I mentioned I messed up the Essos timeline. I wanted to write this as it happened rather than have characters thinking back on the events but don’t panic and think they are only in Volantis now. I messed up and these events happened months before those in chapter 66. Dany’s chapter (chapter 50) should have been included much earlier too. Think of them as very close to Westeros now. It has been difficult trying to keep all the storylines organised and I dropped the ball a little on this one.

**Chapter 67: Tyrion**

The fleet closed in on Volantis, approaching the city via the river. Tyrion could appreciate the view better this time around given that his limbs were not bound with tightly knotted rope. He still lacked freedom in a sense but he found on this occasion he did not mind.

 

_Nobody here likes me and they do not trust me but at least I will not be fodder for the dragons._

The Volantenes were hiding behind their high walls as though they thought that might save them. The triarchs knew they were coming and they knew what it meant. They had sent a fleet to kill Daenerys and her supporters. When that failed, an assassin made an attempt on her life when they docked in Tolos. The welcome there had been as unfriendly as expected and parts of the city had burned before they left.

 

Victarion Greyjoy took a morbid amount of pleasure in the sacking of cities. Tyrion saw it in Meereen and it was the same in Tolos. The man looked to be salivating at the thought of looting Volantis. It could be heard in his voice as he gave the commands to the captains of the other ships.

 

The silver queen was somewhat less exuberant at the thought of assaulting the city. As the ships dropped anchor and the time drew near her beautiful face wore a hard expression. She was unflinching even as Jorah Mormont spoke in her ear in a low voice. For a moment Tyrion almost felt sorry for the Volantenes. The wrath of the dragon queen would not be allayed.

 

“We will take this city,” she declared.

 

Tyrion thought her even more beautiful in her anger. She was still a naïve girl in many ways but that seemed to add to her charm to most of the men around her. She did not like him and he did not like her but they used each other and it suited him.  _I don’t have to like her to want to fuck her._  He was not alone in that thought.

 

“Are you ready to see war, my friend?”

 

Tyrion started at the booming voice of Moqorro. The red priest was not his friend any more than anybody else on these ships.

 

“Ready to see it from far, far away,” he replied in his most agreeable voice.

 

Moqorro laughed at that. Dany blew her horn and the terrible sound of it filled the air. Tyrion covered his ears but it did him little good. He watched as Drogon responded, looking as docile as a monstrous dragon could be as the mother of dragons climbed onto his back. Tyrion still found him fascinating even though he dared not get close without Dany being there. Drogon set one red eye in Tyrion’s direction and his wings flapped as he took off, making a sound like thunder.

 

It had been decided that no messengers were to be sent from their fleet. Instead, Dany was going to use Drogon as her announcement. Tyrion watched her fly the dragon high above the city, wheeling around in an arc through the air. Even from a distance Tyrion saw failed attempts to bring Drogon down. The dragon was too far away for arrows or crossbow bolts to reach him. Drogon called to his brothers and Tyrion held his breath. The other dragons had just been fed and thankfully did little to respond. They did not want a repeat of Meereen.

 

The show was fairly brief and Dany looked tense as she dismounted.

 

“Now we wait.”

 

Tyrion still thought messengers should be sent but Dany did not want any of her people sacrificed. Tyrion had no doubt they would be killed but he also knew that it looked like a mummer’s farce to fly a dragon over a city at a safe distance from attack. If the triarchs were to learn of the dragon queen’s reluctance to use them they would exploit it.

 

Hours passed before anything was heard. A plume of smoke rose into the air, becoming larger with time until the whole horizon was filled with it. Those gathered on the ships and docks murmured amongst themselves, wondering what it meant. Tyrion shot a look at Moqorro and suspected he already knew. The gates to the city began to creak.

 

“It has begun,” the red priest announced.

 

Tyrion recalled his time walking through the plaza past the red temple in Volantis. Benerro was preaching about Daenerys and the prophecy. The Fiery Hand, the Lord of Light’s sacred soldiers were a thousand strong and their followers looked close to riot even then. He remembered once more the riot in King’s Landing on the day Myrcella sailed for Dorne. That would pale in comparison with a riot in Volantis.

 

“They know she is here,” Moqorro pronounced as the gates gave way. “They know that she has come to free them. R’hllor’s worshippers have been waiting for her.”

 

Tyrion had his doubts about the prophecy. He did not doubt that the silver queen  _wanted_  to save everybody but whether she could actually do it was quite another matter. He had tried to counsel her but when it was hard truth she often did not want to listen. Meereen was a case in point. The people did not want her. Those who called her mother saw her as their saviour but to the rest she was an oppressor. She liked to call Robert, Joffrey and Tommen usurpers but in Essos the sad truth of it was that  _she_ was the usurper. They saw her rule as trampling on their long held traditions, that she exceeded her authority and did not listen to them. Her beliefs and ideals were not their own.

 

Tyrion had told her so once and her anger had been terrible.

 

“ _How dare you call me usurper?”_

It had taken her days to cool off and she was still chilly in her courtesy to him for some time afterwards. He knew that he might have saved himself most of her wrath if he had guarded his tongue more wisely but Tyrion never seemed to learn.

 

_One of these days my head really will end up on a spike._

She did eventually see reason but only to a certain point. The Harpy helped drive it home once it became clear that there was no one “Harpy” but a pervasive group growing in numbers by the day who wanted her gone. Meereen did not appreciate her but Dany was determined it would be different elsewhere. Moqorro filled her head with stories of the Volantenes waiting for her and Tyrion tried to temper that. The dragon queen assured him she was no fool but still he saw how she softened at the thought of the slaves calling out for her.

 

_They will eat her alive in Westeros. As long as my sweet sister dies a painful death first I’m not sure I care._

 

He still tried to counsel her though. She was not unkind to him for all her distrust. Tyrion had experienced much worse in Westeros. He supposed he really should be thankful she did not snick his head off. It was too much to expect to be loved. A little appreciation might have been nice though.

 

The unsullied were given the command to go forth into the city. The ironborn were also unleashed with strict orders not to harm the slaves or to rape and pillage. Tyrion fought the urge to snort.

 

_Fat lot of good that will do._

The same order had been given in Tolos and Tyrion had cringed at the number who were gelded as punishment afterwards. Victarion stood watching with cold, angry eyes. The ironborn saw women as the spoils of war and did not take kindly to being told that would not do. If not for the dragons Tyrion expected there would have been a revolt then and there. He still watched Victarion closely. The man had an agenda and it involved more than simply unseating his brother from the Seastone Chair, Tyrion was sure of that.

 

Still, the reavers would have learned some lesson from Tolos even if they did seethe with resentment. Tyrion watched as the men marched forth into the city, Ser Barristan and his knights riding with them. The battle raged for a time before Daenerys finally flew Drogon over the city once more. Dragonflame rained down and Tyrion waited for her return. Viserion and Rhaegal were stirring and there was unrest at the docks.

 

The black dragon wheeled around back towards the fleet. Tyrion would know by her face whether the result was what she hoped for or whether it was another catastrophe. As she dismounted her face was flushed with triumph.

 

“They are yielding.”

 

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “How many did Drogon roast to achieve that?”

 

She flushed and he was not sure whether it was anger or shame from the past. “He didn’t. He set fire to the tigers and their weaponry.”

 

Tyrion made a tsking noise. “I hope you are right.”

 

She bristled and shot a glance at those listening. “You do not question me. It was necessary. They must know I am the blood of the dragon and ...”

 

“Yes, yes your grace,” Tyrion interjected. “Fire and blood.”

 

The queen frowned at him. “You were the one who said I must not be seen to be afraid of using the dragons.”

 

“I did,” he agreed.

 

She lifted her chin proudly. “Using Drogon shortened this battle considerably.”

 

“I’m sure you are right,” he replied.

 

Her gaze cut through him and he tilted his head to look at her. He knew he was pushing her but he could not help feeling bruised that she did not seek his counsel on the plan of attack. Tyrion’s strength was his mind and he did not like feeling worthless. The dragons kept him by her side  _not that I have a choice_  but he wanted more than that. He craved that feeling he had as Hand in Kings Landing.

 

_She listens to Mormont too much._

The knight still disliked Tyrion and his distrust did not help matters. Daenerys did seek Tyrion’s counsel but she did it more as last resort. He heard her whispering of treasons and betrayal. If her other advisors did not agree with Tyrion he could be sure there was a good chance she would ignore him. He had his lord father to thank for that he supposed.  _That and the fact I killed him._

 

She was right this time though. The remaining foes were brought out in the chains that their slaves once wore. Tyrion waddled into the city rather cautiously amid adulation for the dragon queen and cries of “Daenerys” all around him. The red temple had been damaged in the fighting and some of the worshippers were weeping over it.

 

Tyrion left Dany to her new admirers. It was knowledge he was most interested in. He noted with interest that Ser Jorah had managed to tear himself away from the object of his unwanted affections and was of a similar mind. It was a long walk and after all the time spent on a ship with little exercise Tyrion’s legs began to ache. He persisted though, crossing the Long Bridge and passing freed slaves, unsullied and ironborn standing over the corpses of the fallen until he reached the Merchant’s House.

 

Tyrion knew it was possible that he might have found out what he wanted in the plaza but he was not interested in  _possible_. The sailors frequenting the Merchant’s House made it certain Tyrion could learn of Westeros. The unsullied stood to attention having clearly secured the building, They did not react as Tyrion and Mormont passed.

 

Tyrion managed to procure ale and sat at a table in the common room, eyeing the rather wary looking traders and sailors seated at the other tables. Mormont sat across from him looking rather impatient. It did not take long for the talk between the men to resume. Little time passed before some of them even became bold enough to approach.

 

_They want to know what the dragon queen plans to do with them._

Mormont quickly established with them that Daenerys had no interest in executing sailors and merchants, particularly those with no part in the slave trade. The subject was steered onto news of Westeros. One of the sailors was Westerosi and very forthcoming.

 

“Queen Myrcella is facing all sorts of troubles.”

 

Tyrion cocked his head to the side. “Myrcella?” he asked. “What of Tommen?”

 

“He died. They say he was trampled by his horse.”

 

Tyrion could not help feeling a slight pang. Tommen was a sweet child. He hardened himself against it immediately.  _Dead children are no more than my sweet sister deserves._  The man informed them that Cersei was still Regent but Jaime was missing. That was most interesting.

 

“What other troubles?” he pressed.

 

“Prince Aegon commands the allegiance of the Stormlands and most of the Reach. Just before we set sail he brokered an alliance with the North.”

 

Tyrion began to feel a growing sense of glee.  _Griff clearly knows what he is doing._  The news of the North was curious. He wondered what Cersei had done to get the Boltons offside.

 

“What role are the Northerners playing?”

 

The sailor laughed a booming laugh. “The wolf girl took back Winterfell and declared the Lannisters to be butchers and murderers. There are reports that the Boltons and their men have been executed.”

 

Tyrion’s glee was beginning to curdle.

 

“What wolf girl?” Mormont asked and Tyrion waited for the answer.

 

“Lord Stark’s daughter. Her father was executed for treason but she is calling it murder.”

 

Tyrion continued to prod the man for information on the alliance but he did not enjoy the answers. Winterfell’s daughter spent time at Storm’s End as a guest under protection of Prince Aegon before taking back Winterfell. The sailor returned to his companions after hearing from Mormont that Daenerys would not harm them and that they could be on their way as soon as the city was completely secured.

 

When they were alone Mormont studied him. “You look like you ate something which does not agree with you.”

 

Tyrion’s mouth twisted. He had let Daenerys and her people think he had killed Joffrey. Everybody thought he did it so he did not try to deny it anymore. It was easier to just embrace it and Tyrion had embraced his hate. This news however had dredged up demons for him.

 

“It seems my lady wife has allied herself with Prince Aegon.”

 

Mormont laughed darkly. “Starks are all about their  _honour_. Does it surprise you after what your nephew did to her father?”

 

Mormont would not understand and Tyrion had no intention of enlightening him. Sansa’s disappearance following Joffrey’s death still rankled him. Tyrion did not blame her for killing Joffrey. He  _did_  blame her for leaving him to take the blame. He had not been fool enough to think she bore any love for him but he had not treated her ill.

 

_I could not even make her smile but I tried. Now she labels all Lannisters as murderers._

Sansa must have changed to be accusing Cersei outright of murder. Tyrion still remembered the girl hiding behind her courtesies. He supposed escaping King’s Landing had removed the need for pretence.  _Her accusations will bring more than the North to Aegon’s side if they are clever._ The Prince surely would not hold them against her. Tyrion thought of Aegon and wondered what might have been if Mormont had not captured him in the brothel in Selhorys.

 

_Dorne must be with him too._

His musings were cut short by the screech of Viserion in the distance. Tyion had spent enough time around them to recognise their different sounds. They truly were remarkable creatures. No matter what had passed, the chance to see dragons in the flesh was worth it. It was something Tyrion dreamed of as a child. Still, he could not help his thoughts wandering to Cersei. The kingdoms were turning on her and he was not there to see it.

 

_We need to get to Westeros._

Tyrion wanted his sister dead but he wanted to be there for it. If Sansa and Aegon were able to bring about her downfall that was all well and good but Tyrion wanted Cersei to know  _he_  was with the dragons. He wanted his vengeance. He wanted to repay her for her hate and he wanted to see her end for what she had done to him, her and Jaime both.

 

_A Lannister pays his debts._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One clarification in case it is not clear: Tyrion thinks Arya is dead.  
> 


	68. Chapter 68: Alayne/Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I leave it too long between Sansa chapters so this one is more summary and catch up than I would like.

**Chapter 68: Alayne/Sansa**

 

Alayne once thought that Littlefinger was a mask worn by Petyr. Petyr rescued her from Kings Landing, he saved her from Cersei. Petyr kept her safe, caring for her as his daughter. He taught her about the game, the game of thrones. Her moment of weakness when Arya was crowned Queen in the North changed everything.

 

First, Petyr had finally told her of the dragon queen on her way to Westeros.

 

“There will be war sweetling.”

 

Alayne did not quite understand what he meant at first. The war was already raging, her sister and Prince Aegon were fighting against the Lannister forces. Petyr laughed when she said so and insisted that she needed the swords of the Vale now more than ever. He did not explain why. He only laughed again when she thought wistfully of her family and said that the two Targaryens would surely be pleased to know one another. Then she understood.

 

Alayne learned more quickly now and she knew Petyr better than he thought she did. He was very clever, the most clever person she expected she had met but she slowly learned when he was manipulating and when he was being earnest. She could not be certain what might happen with the Targaryens but Petyr’s satisfied smirk told her that any enmity arising between them might not be completely of their own doing.

 

Her jealousy over Arya’s crown made him far more forthcoming. He smiled at her knowingly, that sly smile she associated with Littlefinger. He was more affectionate than he had ever been, coaxing kisses from her, clasping her hand. He urged her to sit with him in his solar while he told her things, plots he had brewing. When he went away for a few days she was not sure whether she was more relieved or worried.

 

Her thoughts shifted away from Petyr however when Sweetrobin’s shaking became worse. Robert Arryn was needed to greet a gathering of the Lords of the Eyrie, he could not be seen in his current state. She summoned Maester Coleman to administer sweetmilk. The maester protested but Alayne insisted. It was the only thing which would stop the shaking. The maester had resisted her instructions on it before and it had been most embarrassing when Lord Robert had a shaking fit in the middle of a feast. Petyr had been very wroth about it and he stressed to Alayne what must be done. She was to ensure the maester followed her instructions

 

Sweetrobin managed to endure the meeting with his Lords bannermen but he declined rapidly afterwards. Alayne was by his bedside but he was not waking. The maester moved in and out of the room, checking on the boy and wringing his hands. Petyr returned to find her in Lord Robert’s room. He seemed unconcerned at Sweetrobin’s condition.

 

Alayne followed him to his solar and took a seat with him as he bid her.

 

“Don’t frown sweetling,” he said, smiling warmly. “I bring good news.”

 

Alayne could not imagine how there might be good news but she tried to smooth out her features nonetheless. “What is it father?” she asked, trying not to dwell on Robert Arryn. She made herself smile.

 

“I believe I can give you your crown.”

 

Alayne felt her smile almost freeze on her face.

 

“My crown?” she repeated.

 

Petyr’s eyes sparkled. “Yes sweet girl, the Northern crown.” He pulled her into his lap and Alayne tried to keep her expression pleasant. She did not want a crown. She most certainly did not want  _that_  crown. That was not what Petyr wanted to hear though. She looked into his face, seeing the smirk. That was not what  _Littlefinger_  wanted to hear.

 

“What about Arya?” she asked, keeping her voice light.

 

He gave her a kiss. “Let me worry about your sweet sister. I want to see you happy.”

 

Alayne felt as though her face was going to crack. It took her a moment to realise in her panic that she was holding her breath.  _He is going to do something to Arya, mayhaps Rickon too._  She took a couple of breaths then gave him the kiss he clearly expected.

 

 _Lies and Arbor Gold_  she thought.

“Yes father,” she said. “I want to be happy too.”

 

***

  
Lord Robert Arryn never woke up. Petyr still seemed calm given that he would no longer be Lord Protector. Alayne stood by her cousin’s body briefly, trying to determine what she felt. While she was there she heard the maester speaking with Petyr.

 

“I did try to warn about the sweetmilk.”

 

Petyr’s tone became that of Littlefinger and Alayne knew he would do something to bewitch or remove the maester as an obstacle. It was what he did best. It did not remove the impact of the maester’s words.

 

_I gave the order for him to have the sweetmilk._

Terror rose up inside her and tears sprang to her eyes. Robert Arryn was a spoiled, sickly child but she had not wanted him dead, not like Joffrey. She was innocent of Joffrey’s murder but now... now she truly had killed somebody. Alayne wept by Sweetrobin’s bedside.

 

_I did not mean it. I did not know._

 

She tried to remember what the maester had said about the sweetmilk as she wiped at her eyes. He said it should be used sparingly. Alayne rarely ordered it and yet her cousin was dead. Petyr insisted the shaking needed to stop for the boy to be Lord of the Eyrie otherwise she never would have asked the sweetmilk to be given to him. Petyr told her to  _make_  the maester obey her.

 

Petyr called her to his solar afterwards. While she held in her sobs she saw that he looked completely calm still.

 

“Do not grieve sweetling. We have a wedding to prepare for.”

 

Alayne managed to regain her composure with difficulty. “A wedding?” He gave her a pointed smile in response that made his meaning clear.

 

_He means my wedding._

She could not speak as Petyr...Littlefinger began to discuss of the need for a short delay so that it did not appear to be unseemly after the passing of Lord Robert. Her thoughts shifted to Harry. She had recently learned that he had fathered another bastard. It had hurt more than she expected. She did not love him but she expected him to at least be faithful with their betrothal.

 

_I do not want to marry._

She interrupted Littlefinger. “Father, how can I marry? I am already married.”

 

He was dismissive. “The Imp is surely dead. I received news that the Targaryen believes so, even if Cersei still has her doubts.”

 

Alayne fell into silence. She did not know what to think. She never wanted to share a bed with Tyrion. She never wanted to marry him but he had been kind to her. Of all the Lannisters he was the only one to be kind.

 

_He was one of them though._

 

She listened to Littlefinger speak of Harry as the new Lord of the Eyrie, of how the marriage would assure them security. He did not explain how they were to navigate her false identity. Sansa Stark was still wanted for Kingslaying. Myrcella still sat the Iron Throne. She could not be exposed, it was not safe yet he assured her she needed the swords of the Vale and the marriage needed to happen to keep Winterfell safe.

 

Her sleep that night was tormented. She dreamed of Sweetrobin, of her Aunt Lysa, of Littlefinger. She even dreamed of Cersei and for a brief time of Tyrion. Just before she woke she dreamed of her father and it was that which prompted her to seek the godswood after she broke her fast.

 

Alayne had not visited the godswood at the Gates of the Moon. She was the natural daughter of Petyr Baelish, supposedly sworn to the faith and only recently turning away from the decision to be a septa. It would look odd but Alayne was drawn to the godswood now by thoughts of her father. She knelt before the heart tree and wept once more.

 

She uttered her prayers in a whisper, desperately hoping nobody would hear her. Her knees ached by the time she was done. As she struggled to rise, straightening her skirts there was a rustle on the breeze and she thought she heard her name. Her true name, Sansa, not the one she wore to hide away. It frightened her.

 

_The old gods know what I have done._

As she was fleeing she thought she heard Arya’s name too. That frightened her even more. She still did not know what Littlefinger planned to do. She hurried into the castle and tried to focus on her duties. Those who saw the signs of her tears gave her soft smiles and she realised they thought she was mourning Sweetrobin. It made her feel worse.

 

Randa tried to cheer her. At first she resisted then she realised that there was gain in it. Petyr always said knowledge was power but he controlled the knowledge Alayne could gather. He shared just enough with her to see his cleverness but for all he told her there was so much more he held back. The dragon queen was coming he said. There would be war he said. Winterfell is not safe.

 

Randa told her news she had missed. The Riverlands lords were joining Arya and Dorne sided now with Aegon. Alayne wanted to be hopeful, it looked as though Cersei would not last much longer but she remembered what Petyr had said of Daenerys and she thought of how trapped  _she_  was and all she could feel was despair.

 

Her guilt gnawed away at her.  _I never wanted little Robert to die_. She thought of Arya and Rickon, especially after what had happened at the heart tree. She was not the only Stark but the other Starks were not hiding and she did not know what they might think of her. Rickon would not know her. The last time she saw Arya she was quite certain her sister hated her. Arya hated Joffrey too but Sansa was accused of kingslaying, even if she wanted to try to contact her brother or sister she would be exposed.

She summoned up the courage to ask Petyr one night about the crown he promised, donning a bright smile she did not feel. His response increased her terror.

 

“All it takes is for the right person to die and everything will be set in motion sweet girl.”

 

She did not ask what he meant. It brought to mind what her Aunt Lysa had said just before she died. She shut her eyes remembering.  _Petyr told Aunt Lysa to put something in Jon Arryn’s wine._  He said she was raving but Alayne had her doubts and his words now confirmed them.  _She wrote to my mother to blame the Lannisters_. Her thoughts then went to Joffrey and Robert Arryn.  _He used the Tyrells to kill Joffrey. He pushed me to order the sweetmilk that killed Sweetrobin._

 

_It is as dangerous with him as it was in King’s Landing._

 

As if to prove her point, Petyr’s hand went to her thigh and Alayne, Sansa stiffened. She remembered Marillion’s advances and the way Petyr kissed her that day in the snow. He had kissed her many times since but this was different. He gave her leg a squeeze and let go but she would not forget it this time.

 

She excused herself, making her smile remain and went to her chambers.

She knew now she needed to get away but there was nowhere she could go. There was no way to get out. She could not reveal herself. Sansa Stark was wanted for the murder of Joffrey. The Vale was still undeclared, she could not know what they would do. Besides, she was still married to a Lannister. Petyr’s claims of his death did not convince her otherwise.

 

For the first time in a long while, Alayne thought of the Hound.  _Mayhaps I would have been better off if I had left with him when he asked_. He frightened her but he never hurt her.  _He wanted to though_. She shook herself at the thought. She was not a little girl any more. She knew no knight would come to rescue her.

 

Her fear for herself was matched by her fear for her family. She wanted to write them, to warn them but Petyr would know. He had spies everywhere, not just in the Vale but all over Westeros.  _He has somebody in Winterfell too_. Alayne was certain of it. Even if she could write she was not certain how it might be received. Arya might not want to hear from her.

 

The preparations for her unwanted wedding proceeded unhindered. Petyr left the Eyrie promising to return before the day. Alayne feared what it meant for her sister and brother. She had been powerless to do anything, powerless to stop him. She thought it could not get worse until it did.

 

Alayne was in her chambers when the visitors arrived. There was no time to prepare herself when she entered the audience chamber where Randa played hostess to guests and came face to face with them. She stopped still knowing it was too late to flee. They were whispering amongst themselves and the younger one went pale. Randa had spotted her and began to introduce her.

 

“This is Alayne Stone, the natural daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish.”

 

She kept her eyes lowered as she curtsied. The men were not introduced immediately, Randa was too busy looking between them, a smirk on her face as she tried to work out what the expressions meant.

 

“Alayne,” a smooth voice said and when she looked up she could see amusement in his green eyes, so very like his sister’s. “I see you took all your looks from your mother.”

 

She swallowed hard and pasted a smile on her face.

 

_He knows who I am._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Sansa's arc is taking a little to develop. It will get there. I have specific thoughts on what I expect from her character and what I want for her so my ideas are coming together but it isn't going to all happen at once or necessarily in the way people expect.


	69. Chapter 69: Cersei | Jaime

**Chapter 69: Cersei | Jaime**

 

**Cersei**

 

Cersei closed the door to Myrcella’s chambers and ordered the grand maester to follow her. He wrung his hands but followed meekly and Cersei thanked the gods that he was weak. They reached her solar and she shut the door.

 

“Nobody is to know of this.”

 

The grand maester stuttered and stammered but she wrung an agreement from him. He murmured about treatments and hopes of recovery but Cersei struggled to hear him. She dismissed him abruptly with a reminder to keep quiet. The same words kept repeating through her head and she struggled for breath. A sob threatened to choke her but she stifled it. She would not cry, not while Myrcella still drew breath.

 

_Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds_

 

Cersei had kept guards close to her one remaining child. Myrcella rarely left the Red Keep. She should have been safe. Now she lay in her bed, weakened and wasting. The Grand Maester could not say what afflicted her. Cersei wanted to curse the gods but most of all she wanted to curse Maggy the Frog.  _The prophecy cannot be coming to pass._

 

Tales had reached her through Qyburn of dragons in Volantis. Daenerys Targaryen called herself Queen. Cersei feared what it meant but as much as she feared the false Targaryen queen on her way with dragons, her mind was more occupied with the Dragon already in Westeros.

 

The city was in rebellion. Many of the Poor fellows had been harried out of the city and Cersei hoped they would trouble the Targaryen and his Northern friends. They did not take kindly to those who did not worship the Seven. The Warriors Sons were a different matter. It was war in the streets between them and the gold cloaks when Cersei tried to have them brought to heel. Their ranks swelled so quickly that the forces of the Westerlands were now required in addition to gold cloaks to subdue them.

 

A servant knocked at the door and announced that Ser Daven wanted to speak with her. Cersei knew what he wanted. The Warden in the West wanted to negotiate a surrender. Cersei was not going to hand herself over to them. The Westerlands would submit to her command. She remained the Lady of Casterly Rock.

 

_Talks of a surrender might still be a farce._

 

She eagerly waited each day for news of Ser Robert.  _He had to succeed._  News had travelled that the forces in the Riverlands had stopped moving and it filled her with hope.  _If the wolf bitch and the prince are dead the men will disband soon and beg for a pardon._  It would end the immediate threat. It might put the prophecy to rest for good.

 

The rumours of the silver queen made Cersei doubt but the Stark girl fit the prophecy. She had been proclaimed queen albeit queen in the North, she was younger and the reference to casting Cersei down... Cersei still remembered the letter the girl wrote denouncing Cersei’s rule. Since the girl was crowned it gained new meaning. She had begun to think of Lyanna Stark more than she had in years. This girl was said to be Lyanna come again. The singers were making much of the wolf queen and Cersei’s threats only seemed to make it worse. She had not forgotten Rhaegar choosing to run away with the Stark girl.

 

_She could not be more beautiful than me._

 

Cersei never met Lyanna Stark but she was certain the girl could not be more beautiful. This Arya could not be more beautiful. She picked up a looking glass. The years were beginning to take their toll. Her walk of shame had damaged her, she knew but she was still the same golden lioness who had been so admired. She was still the same woman Jaime loved.

 

_Where is he?_

She rose and went to meet her cousin. He unhappily accepted her rejection of his terms for surrender though not without protest. Cersei’s irritation with him faded quickly when she heard that Sandor Clegane had been brought into the Throne room. She walked quickly, her skirts rustling and almost unable to believe the news. The scarred man kneeling before her was unmistakably the Hound.

 

“Your grace,” he murmured in his gravelly voice keeping his eyes lowered. Guards were either side of him in an attempt to ensure he remained a prisoner.

 

Cersei’s rage threatened to overwhelm her. “Tell me why I should not have you executed immediately.”

 

His mouth twitched and Cersei studied him.  _He truly is hideous._  “I have information you want about the wolf bitch and the dead prince.”

 

Her heart leapt into her throat. “He is dead?” She could not keep the hope from her voice.

 

The Hound made a sound and she realised he was trying to stifle laughter. “Not as dead as my brother claimed he was.”

 

The disappointment almost soured her stomach. “Tell me.”  

 

He gave the guards a look but they were slow to act until Cersei prompted them sharply to not waste her time. A helm, cloak and piece of parchment were offered to her. Cersei recognised the dented helm and looked at it in disbelief. She wrenched the parchment from the hand offering it and broke the Targaryen seal, trying to stop her fingers from shaking.

 

_This cloak belonged to one of most loyal men I have ever known. I’m sure my regard for him will matter little to you given that you intended me to die in his place. I will hurt you for this and for much more. You would kill all those I love. Expect no mercy from me._

_Fire and Blood_

He did not sign it by name, only by his House words.  _I must not show weakness._  She crumpled the parchment and threw the stained cloak at the guard.

 

“Dispose of this.”

 

The helm seemed to be taunting her and she avoided looking at it.

 

“Rise,” she barked at Clegane. “What of the girl?”

 

“She was bedridden from her injuries your grace. He mourned the Kingsguard knight but I expect that targeting her is what really did it.”

 

Cersei fought the urge to pace. She wanted to throw something. “He is fucking her.”

 

Clegane gave his disgusting laugh. “He wants to.”

 

Cersei gave him a sharp look.  _Men know nothing._  The prince was not doing all he did for a girl he  _wanted_. It was too much for that.

 

“Why did you leave?”

 

The Hound kept his head lowered. “I could not take commands from the Imp.”

 

 _It all comes back to Tyrion._  She could not resist the urge to pace now.

 

“Where have you been? It has been years.”

 

“I had a run in with my brother’s men your grace, my injuries almost killed me. I stayed in a refuge during my long recovery.”

 

He had an answer for everything. Every time Cersei looked at him he still had his eyes lowered.  _He is ever the Hound_.

 

“What were you doing with  _them_?” she spat.

 

“I happened upon them on my way here. I heard about Gregor.”

 

Cersei shot a look at the guards. They did not react to the name.  _They would be fools not to suspect_. She looked at the helm again.

 

“How did they do it?”

 

He did not ask what she meant. “It was the red priest and the she-wolf. They burned him.”

 

“What about you?” she asked sharply.

 

He looked up at her, eyes narrowed. “I hate fire.”

 

Cersei knew that much was true.

 

“Why did they let you live? Why send you here to me?”

 

Clegane laughed at that. “They hoped you would kill me. The Targaryen hates Cleganes and his cousin is in his ear.”

 

Cersei pictured Nymeria Sand, those viper eyes of hers full of malice as she schemed and plotted against Cersei with the Prince. She looked at Sandor Clegane in front of her. He should be killed, she knew that but she also knew  _him_. He had served in her household and obeyed her and Joff, he knew their secrets.  _If not for Tyrion he might have been there to save Joff._  She had a sudden thought, looking at Clegane waiting for instruction.  _Tyrion knew Joff was vulnerable without the Hound, he drove him away_.

 

“What will they do if you return to them?”

 

He snorted. “They promised me gold. I doubt they have enough, they seemed to be struggling to collect any.”

 

Cersei studied him again. “You will return but I will pay you more. There are things I need from you. First I want to hear more about the girl and the Prince.”

 

The Hound knelt again, respectfully. “Yes, your grace.”

 

Trusting him was a risk, she knew but Cersei Lannister had little remaining left to lose. There was no one else she could turn to, not even her own twin. He could not be dead, Cersei felt she would know it if he was.  _Where are you Jaime?_

 

**Jaime**

 

Jaime still did not know how he had ended up in such a mess. Podrick Payne looked even more befuddled though that was not unusual for the boy. Brienne had assured him that Pod had no lack of courage but Jaime was yet to see much sense from him. If the boy was smart he would have gone with Brienne to Storm’s End. Instead he insisted on staying with Jaime out of some notion that the quest for Sansa Stark would turn up Tyrion.

 

_Tyrion is long gone and far from our sweet sister’s reach._

 

Pod did not know of Jaime’s role in Tyrion’s escape. Jaime did not intend to enlighten him. The return of the other Stark girl to Winterfell followed by the rather shocking development that her youngest brother was alive and had joined her had changed things for them. Jaime had pursued a few dead ends before deciding to travel North to see if Sansa was hiding with one of her brother’s (or sister’s he supposed) bannermen. He did not hold out much hope. If the girl was in the North it did not make much sense that she did not simply return to Winterfell.

They tried to avoid running into the Targaryen and his army. Jaime was more than certain that the boy would not be interested in hearing excuses as to why Jaime killed his grandfather. Alongside that stories spread far and wide of Arya Stark’s determination to bring down his sweet sister. He was not interested in trusting his fate to her if he happened to cross her path.

 

_If the tales are to be believed she will be as kind to me as Lady Stoneheart planned to be._

Jaime saw the walking corpse of Catelyn Stark when he closed his eyes to sleep at night. Catelyn Stark had been a handsome woman, even if she did have that insufferable sense of higher honour and harsh judgement of those who did not measure up. What the Freys did to her though...  _They deserved everything they got._  Jaime had been kept by the Brotherhood for so long he began to fear he would never see daylight again. He had Brienne to thank for his release. He thought of her often since they separated, knowing it must be torturing her not looking for Sansa.

 

_She is such a stubborn wench. Hopefully I can succeed in her place. That will make them all scratch their heads._

 

He needed to find the elder Stark girl not only for what remained of his honour but so that he could return to Cersei. She was on his mind constantly, his bitterness over Tyrion’s confession about her competing with his memories. He did not know what he would do when he saw her. While Sansa Stark still eluded him he could not return to Kings Landing. The outlaws would kill him even if the Targaryen did not.

He and Pod were fortunate to avoid the Targaryen and the Northern army. Instead they were faced with another, unexpected set of armed men... and women. They weren’t much to look at but looks mattered little given that it was hundreds of them against him and Pod and Jaime was unlikely to offer much opposition, even to men who looked like savages. They might be savages but they were savages armed with good steel.

There was a time he would have drawn his sword and killed as many as he could take down with him. Pod, the fool boy, tried to draw his own sword and Jaime had to stop him. He did not like the way they looked at his golden hand. They might have killed both of them anyway if it weren’t for his tongue. He held up the golden hand.

 

“If you let us live I have much more of this.”  _Assuming the Targaryen doesn’t take Casterly Rock before I return._  It galled him to use the tactic. He had never used it before and never intended to ever use it.  _That damned oath is to blame._

 

The clan leaders looked doubtful until he offered his name. Then he heard mutters of  _halfman_  and  _Tywin_  and  _Lannister_. It was all Jaime could do not to laugh. He had heard of Tyrion’s clansmen from the mountains of the Vale. He never expected to meet them. There was a round of introductions and Jaime met the Moon Brothers and the Stone Crows. The Stone Crows were led by Shagga who seemed to have decided he was spokesperson.

 

“Tyrion son of Tywin promised us the Vale.”

 

Jaime had to laugh this time.  _Of course he did._

 

They met at the Crossroads and Jaime thought for that to be the end of it but he was wrong. He and Pod became  _guests_  of the clansmen. They proceeded down the High Road towards the Vale. The road was dangerous for most but as a guest of the clans Jaime was assured safety. As they reached the foothills they found themselves in the midst of all the mountain clans of the Vale.

 

The clans had a queer sort of sense of honour. Tyrion and their lord father had armed and armoured a number of them and upon the others hearing the Lannister name there was talk of more arms and armour. Jaime was happy to agree to their requests if it kept him and Pod alive. They wanted the Vale and Jaime was disinclined to interfere. He could not even if he wanted if he hoped to escape alive.

 

The mountain clans had a base set up in the foothills, not far from the Bloody Gate. It was there that Jaime and Pod were allowed to stop. A council of sorts was held and Jaime watched with fascination as grievances were resolved with brutal violence. Two men died in the course of discussions before attention turned to Jaime.

 

“You did not bring me all this way for my wit and good looks did you?”

 

Shagga laughed loudly as did others in the gathering before he held his hand up and silence fell.

 

“We were promised the Vale. Halfman said Lannisters pay debts.”

 

“This is true,” Jaime replied trying to determine how in seven hells he was supposed to deliver. “What would you have me do?”

 

“They are cowards,” one of the Black Ears pronounced. “They won’t come out to face us. You can get in the gates. Tell them what we want.”

 

_They will certainly love me for that. Their answer might be to put my head on a pike._

 

“And if they refuse?” Jaime asked. “What are your terms?” Shagga whipped out two axes, one in each hand and grinned. Jaime marvelled once again that he still had his skin. “Very well then.”

 

He approached the Bloody Gate with Pod early the next day. Knights rode out to meet them, looking at Jaime with scorn when he gave his name. They escorted him to the gate where the Knight of the Gate was equally scornful.

 

“I come to speak to the Lord Protector, Lord Petyr Baelish. I come as an envoy.”

 

“He is no longer Lord Protector,” the knight announced. It was not a man Jaime knew. “Lord Robert has passed.”

 

_I wonder how Littlefinger is going to come out on top this time._

 

“Mayhaps I still wish to speak with him,” Jaime replied. “I would also speak with the new Lord of the Eyrie.”

 

He could see they wanted to refuse him. “Lannisters still have friends,” he told them, bristling that they resisted him so much. “I am coming on an important matter.”

 

“Lord Baelish is away,” the knight finally offered. “We will escort you to the Gates of the Moon. From there you may meet with Lord Harrold if he wishes.”

 

It took most of the day to reach the Gates of the Moon. They were escorted into chambers and told that because it was late they would be seen in the morning. When morning came, he and Pod were shown into an audience chamber and greeted by the Lady Myranda Royce.

 

“Ser Jaime Lannister,” she pronounced with a wicked smile. “I have heard such tales of you.”

 

Jaime gave her his most charming smile and introduced Pod who stammered and looked at his boots. The questions had hardly begun when a young woman entered the chamber and froze. Pod made a strange squeaking noise beside him and Jaime saw that the young man’s gaze was no longer on his boots but fixed on the new arrival instead. Jaime glanced at her and saw nothing startling, she was beautiful but it did not warrant the reaction.

 

“Excuse me my lady,” he said to Lady Myranda and bent to speak with Pod.

 

“Ser,” the lad whispered “it is my lady.”

 

Jaime glanced at the young dark haired woman again. She had begun to approach but was moving like a cornered animal.

 

“This is Alayne Stone,” Lady Myranda announced. “The natural daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish.”

 

Jaime began to pay far more attention as Pod gripped the sleeve of his coat more tightly.

 

_Baelish has no bastard daughter._

 

He leaned close to Pod again, pulling him aside to not be overheard.

 

“The lady,” Pod stammered in a whisper. “The lady Sansa.”

 

Lady Myranda Royce looked at them curiously and Jaime moved to dissuade her curiosity. They were not welcome visitors, despite Lady Myranda’s interest in them. He would bide his time to find out what the story was with the girl. She curtsied very gracefully, her eyes lowered.

 

“Alayne,” he said smoothly, watching to see she did not even react to the name. She was dressed as suited a high born bastard. Even her behaviour mas muted compared to what one might expect from a high born lady. He could see it though when he examined her features, the resemblance was there. “I see you took all your looks from your mother.”

 

 _Somebody_  had trained her well. The Lady Sansa did not even break character. Jaime saw her go a little pale but her smile was as radiant as the ones Cersei used to bestow upon him. Jaime’s own smile grew in response.  _Things have become very interesting indeed._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have done a woeful job of dealing with the time jump for certain characters, it did make things very hard trying to explain the missing time. That is why GRRM abandoned his own planned time jump.  
> 


	70. Chapter 70: Aegon

**Chapter 70: Aegon**

 

Aegon greeted the newly arrived Riverlands lords. They were courteous enough to him but he could see where their real interests lay. Arya looked dignified and proud. She might not have been wearing a gown but her crown and her bearing alone marked her as a leader, as their queen. Her voice carried through the hall and she sounded strong and confident.

 

He kept his distance after greeting the new men knowing that there would be time enough for more lengthy talks with them later. He conversed with Lord Connington and Nym, ignoring Nym’s goading questions. She was using that innocent tone of hers to ask questions that seemed harmless but Aegon knew better. He saw her go to Arya and knew from the lack of conversation that Nym had fared no better there.

 

When a day and a night passed without seeing Arya Aegon began to wonder if she was punishing him. He kept busy enough making preparations to leave Pinkmaiden. A messenger arrived from the Night’s Watch and Aegon ate with the black brother in one of the pavilions outside the castle. The man gave him a letter from Jon Snow and Aegon read it before questioning him about the situation at the Wall and agreeing to send new recruits from any captured men who could be spared from the next battle. The man looked thankful for hospitality and reluctant to leave.

 

“It is so warm here.”

 

Aegon laughed at the notion but the man’s expression gave him pause. It was winter everywhere and Aegon constantly felt cold. He knew it was much worse at Winterfell. He could scarcely imagine how bad it must be at the Wall.

 

“You are welcome to stay in our camps until it is time to return with recruits,” he offered.

 

Aegon sought out Arya afterwards, wanting to tell her of the messenger. He found her surrounded by people and talking with animation. Lemore was by her side, clearly no longer avoiding her. Her handmaid sat with her too, looking rather like she did not know why she was there. Arya was also surrounded by knights and sons of the Riverlands lords and there was no mistaking their intent.

 

He stood at the entrance to the solar, his fingers flexing as one man became bold enough to touch her arm and point to something he produced from a satchel he carried. It looked to be an old brooch of some sort but rather than scoffing at it as he would have expected Arya  _smiled_. She bent to look at it and her hair fell forward. He had to resist the urge to lunge at the man when he raised his hand as if to touch her.

 

“Why are you not sitting with the other admirers, cousin?”

 

Aegon almost leapt out of his skin. He scowled at Nym. “I did not hear you coming.”

 

She smiled “Clearly.” Her hand went to his wrist and he realised his fist was clenched. He unclenched it and shook his head to clear his thoughts. When he looked back at the huddle of people Arya had lifted her head to look at him. Her grey eyes were set on him and she had a slight smile. She raised her hand and opened her mouth but he did not get to hear what she planned to say. One of Lord Vance’s sons from Atranta entered with flowers in his hand. There was a sheltered garden bed in the castle grounds but Aegon knew the man would have had to hunt for them (or had somebody do it for him). Little grew in winter.

 

“Fool,” Nym hissed beside him.

 

Aegon soon saw what she meant. He knew Arya was not one for jewels. It had not occurred to him to pick her flowers and when he saw her reaction he was glad. She visibly stiffened and although she accepted the flowers she clearly was not happy. Her eyes were downcast and the smile she pasted on now was one Aegon knew not to be real.

 

He took a seat nearby, speaking with Lemore while Nym said she would arrange water for the flowers. They were snatched rather unceremoniously and removed from the room, Arya’s handmaid scurrying at Nym’s heels. He caught Arya’s eye a few minutes later, remembering why he was there.

 

“There is a messenger from the Night’s Watch in the camps. I thought you might like to know.”

 

The mask dropped and she shot to her feet, the men around her looking rather startled. Her expression turned hopeful as she excused herself and Aegon saw a few ill-concealed glares turned his way. The room slowly emptied now that the object of their attentions was gone. He caught Lemore smiling reassuringly at him.

 

“You achieved more than any of them without even trying.”

 

Aegon frowned. “I’m used to her having suitors. I just did not expect them to be so persistent or for her to let them be so close.”

 

Lemore shook her head. “They are new allies. Humiliation is a sure way to make enemies.”

 

Aegon wanted to argue. He preferred seeing her fight her suitors. At least then he knew where things stood. “Why did the flowers upset her?”

 

Nym overheard the question, having returned without the flowers. “She used to pick them for her father and that was all she would say. She clearly does not want men bringing them to her.”

 

Aegon understood. He knew certain reminders of her parents triggered painful memories. He left Lemore in the castle and went with Nym to meet with his men. A raven had arrived from Dorne and their fleets were in place. All that remained was to gather the remaining Riverlands forces for the march. Aegon did not want to stay in Pinkmaiden any longer. It had been difficult biding his time while they sent out ravens and gathered supporters. He felt impatient. The attack by Ser Robert still occupied his thoughts and he would not be seen as slow to act in the aftermath.

 

“Daenerys conquered Volantis,” Lord Connington reminded him. “She must be close now.”

 

They heard the news from Lord Vance from Wayfarer’s Rest. It was all the sailors could talk about and the story was spreading quickly. Aegon knew the information would be old. His Aunt could arrive any time. While he eagerly anticipated seeing the dragons and he wanted to know the only other living member of his House, he had not forgotten Tyrion’s words.

 

“I am not waiting for my Aunt,” he declared. “I won’t have it appear that I needed her help. She is not the only Dragon.”

 

 _I will not meet her as a beggar._  He still felt a surge of anger remembering the insinuations the dwarf made. It had been good counsel though. If he had tried to go to Meereen he would have had little to offer.  _I was an arrogant boy expecting her to fall at my feet_. They needed to meet as equals. The original plan was foolish but Aegon knew little of women at that time. He thought of Arya with a mix of guilt and frustration. There were days he still felt he knew little.

 

They decided to march for Harrenhal in two days. The remaining Riverlands forces could meet them there and march down the Kingsroad to Kings Landing. Aegon went to the great hall for dinner intending to share the plan with Arya and his other allies. Ser Brynden was attentive and thought it reasonable but Arya was otherwise occupied again. Aegon tried not to look at her, focusing on the ladies he was seated with and the men nearby. When he stole a glance the Blackfish caught him.

 

“They are all wasting their time,” he said, amusement in his blue eyes as one of them bent close to Arya to share something with her. “That one won’t be confined.” He gave Aegon a pointed look.

 

_He means me too._

 

He went through the motions of dinner then gathered the Northern and Riverlands lords into a meeting to confirm the plan for moving from Pinkmaiden to Harrenhal and Kings Landing. Arya sat close by him, voicing her support. She had removed her crown and was running her fingers over it but her eyes were locked on him. She and Nym wore almost identical, fervent expressions.

 

“I want to show Cersei what wolves can do to lions.”

 

Nym laughed at that and Aegon smiled a grim smile. The other lords offered their own support to the plan, each eager to serve justice to those they held responsible for the death of their Northern king and his father. After the meeting they separated and Aegon retired to his chambers.

 

Arya startled him when she entered a little while after he crawled under the furs. She wore a roughspun dress as her disguise, much like the one she wore when she came to him at the inn at the crossroads. The memory was a good one.

 

“I did not expect to see you,” he said.

 

Arya hesitated and took a step back, biting her lip. “I can leave.”

 

“No,” he said quickly. “I just meant we have been separate for a time.”

 

Arya took a step forward again and wrung her hands. “People made demands of me.”

 

“I know,” he assured her, jumping to his feet and closing the gap. He stopped short of touching her and she did the same.

 

“The man from the Night’s Watch is keeping things from me. He said Jon is well but there is a secret he would not tell.”

 

Aegon hesitated a moment before turning away and fumbling for the parchment from the Night’s Watch. “I have a letter from him, there was an attack but they fought them off.” He handed it to her and she quickly moved by the candle to read it. Her shoulders slumped a little.

 

“He said the real danger was the North,” she whispered, so quietly that Aegon almost did not hear her.

 

“Jon said that?”

 

Arya shook her head and chose not to explain. “What do I do Aegon?” she said suddenly. “They killed my parents and Robb but Jon and Rickon are in the North and Bran- I’m trying to do this for them but what if it is all wrong?” Her brows were knitted and she looked at him beseechingly. “Jon said I was not to worry but how can I not?”

 

Aegon barked out a short laugh and Arya shot him an accusing look. “I have been as stupid as you always say I am,” he explained. “I saw you with your suitors and I hated it and the whole time you have been thinking of this.”

 

Arya nodded and took his hands in hers. “My uncle gave me instructions to be careful not to offend them. I put on a face with them, that is all. It is just like it was in Braavos.” She looked up into his eyes with an earnest expression. “I might look like me but I’m not.”

 

Aegon had a disturbing thought. “You have done this before?”

 

Arya lowered her eyes. “I have done it too many times. You haven’t answered my question.”

 

He pondered it for a moment trying to hide his feelings at the prospect of her leaving so soon. He gave her hands a slight squeeze. “Even if you thought it best to go North now how do you think your men would take it? Jon is safe. The men who attacked him did not harm him and I will send him more men as soon as I can.”

 

She lifted her chin to look at him again and he let go of one her hands to tentatively tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He took comfort in the thought that she allowed him this though it still bothered him that she might let somebody else touch her in the same way. Arya chewed her lip and he kept quiet, resisting the urge to give more reasons for her to stay. Finally she nodded.

 

“I want Cersei dead. Father and Mother would want her removed too. She cannot be allowed to stay as Queen. It won’t be much longer. I will write to Jon.”

 

Aegon nodded in response, pleased at knowing her decision was to stay. He pushed aside nagging worries about the stories from the Wall bringing to mind the prophecy. He did not understand  _his_  role in it. The prophecy made him uncomfortable. Lord Connington told him that his father once thought Aegon was the prince that was promised. He did not live his life by prophecy apart from knowing that he was meant to be one of the heads of the dragon.

 

_I am meant to have a dragon._

 

He thought back to earlier in the day just before he told her of the messenger. “I’m glad I never gave you flowers. I saw how unhappy you were.”

 

She changed instantly, her fingers lifting to trace down his cheek before stopping at his lips. “You cannot give me flowers but it would not be the same from you. You would not give them for the same reason.”

 

“What reason?”

 

Her eyes were focused on his lips and she moved closer. “They all want to be my consort and rule the North. They want power and wealth and they think to have it through me. I am an amusement who they think will birth their children and grant them castles and holdfasts and that is all. I hear them talk about me, I spend time with the stableboys and the serving girls and I hear what they say. They think marriage will make me a meek little lady. They do not even know me and they do not try to know me.”

 

Her expression was open, her face flushed with passion from her anger.  _She is so beautiful._  When she was like this, when she dropped the mask to be open with him he forgot all his thoughts of how it had to end, that he had to find a way to move on.  _She does not wear a face with me._

 

She must have seen something in the way he looked at her because she lunged at him. Her kisses were urgent, almost desperate and her hands worked feverishly to pull at his clothing. Aegon grunted as he almost tripped against the desk. She gave a dark chuckle and it was his undoing. He pulled at the laces of her dress more roughly and she cursed as his hands got in the way of her undressing him.

 

He was down to his breeches and her dress hung off her frame and none of it was moving quickly enough for either of them. Arya pulled him into another hungry kiss and her fingers began to walk from his navel, tracing down the line of hair to his lacings. He pushed the dress off her shoulders and when she shimmied out of it he groaned as he realised she had no smallclothes on.

 

“What are you trying to do to me?”

 

Her only response was to keep unlacing him as she pressed kisses down from the hollow of his throat to his chest. He interrupted her, shifting his hands down from her waist to pick her up. She gave a little squeak as he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist before he captured her lips again. They fell onto his bed together and Aegon pushed the thought of what the guards outside were likely to hear out of his head. He knew Arya, if they even heard they would not know it was her.

 

Aegon did not hold back as he fucked her into his mattress. His thoughts of her suitors were distant memories as he claimed her the only way he could. Her dark hair fanned out on  _his_ pillow and it was  _him_  she called out to,  _his_  name uttered in ecstasy and it was to  _him_  that she murmured without shame that she wanted more. “ _More_  Aegon,” she moaned in his ear again until he couldn’t take any more himself and it was a struggle to keep from collapsing on her as he finished.

 

Arya caressed his quivering muscles as he hovered over her, panting from the exertion. She looked tranquil as she always did when they were done, a smile curving her lips as her chest rose and fell to show she too felt their efforts. He leaned down to kiss her once more, less needful this time as his tongue swept into her mouth more gently. Arya tangled her fingers in his hair and hooked one leg more tightly around him, holding him securely to her until he finally moved to break away.

 

“Careful,” he whispered to her as she wriggled against him and he felt his cock twitch again. “We’re not in the loft now.”

 

Her smile faded and he wanted to curse. He brought it up remembering how free they were to savour each other, how one night he spent so long with her that he was a wreck the next day and Lord Connington frowned at him throughout their meeting. Instead of making her grin though he knew he had reminded her of their argument.

 

_I knew we would speak of it some time._

He climbed off her with a sigh and tugged at her hand gently to make her look at him. She had never judged him before, no matter what he said.

 

“I still dream of you and Duck but now I dream more of dragons.”

 

Arya rolled to face him, squirming closer as she looked into his face. He took the unspoken offer of affection, resting his hand at the curve of her hip as she pressed a kiss to one of his scars. She didn’t say anything, instead looking at him expectantly. He ran his hand up her body, watching her face to see how she would react. She did not encourage the distraction, instead simply shifting her head to rest beside his on the pillow.

 

“I worry that I have the taint.”

                           

He braced himself but all she did was search his face, her expression softening.

 

“No Aegon. It is only normal you would dream of dragons. They are in your thoughts now. You know you will see them soon.”

 

He wanted it to be true. He wanted to accept the comfort of her explanation but it wasn’t right.

 

“No, it is more than that,” He hated how childish his voice sounded. “They feel like more than dreams. They feel real.”

 

She gave him a queer look then and his heart sank. She did not leave though.

 

“It does not mean you are going mad,” she said insistently after a moment of silence. She shifted even closer to him, letting him embrace her. “Will you tell me of the dreams?”

 

He took a deep breath. “One dragon is so close I can touch him. I still remember the feel of his scales under my fingertips. I see him look at me and it is as though he knows me.” He stopped but Arya only brought her fingers to his chest, tracing a light pattern. Her eyes were wide and focused on him. She looked fascinated but she did not look as though she thought him mad yet. “The others I see less clearly. I only know that there is one who brings destruction. I see the flame and I hear the screams.”

 

“This is what you dream at night?” she asked.

 

He nodded and her fingers went to his face, tracing his jaw. “Sometimes it is  _you_  I hear screaming,” he whispered. “Those are the worst dreams.”

 

Arya kissed him, tangling her tongue with his again and guiding his hand to her breast. He cupped it as the kiss deepened. “You are not mad,” she whispered breathlessly in his ear before she caught his lobe with her teeth “The dreams will pass with time.”

 

He halted her reluctantly while he still had some capacity to think. “You seem so certain.”

 

Arya gave him a wry smile. “I know of dreams. If they are more than dreams you will know with time. Do not fret Aegon.”

 

He looked at her, naked and smiling at him in a way that was so far from innocent.  _She always knows how to make me feel better._  He hoped his next words would not ruin it.

 

“You have not told me of your dreams.”

 

She lowered her head again and kissed his neck. “I dream of my brother, Bran. I know he is alive.”

 

Aegon caught her wrists to stop her from further distracting him.  _I know of dreams_. Her words took on new meaning. Arya looked at him reproachfully and he relaxed his grip on her. She had the blood of the First Men in her veins and Aegon heard queer tales of them. “How can you know?”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “I just do. I really don’t want to talk about my brother right now.”

 

He let it go as she pulled him into another heated kiss. Arya could have lied to him and she didn’t. Aegon would not press her on it now. She whispered in his ear what she wanted and threw her head back at his touch when he obeyed. Her expression flickered strangely for a moment before she took charge, murmuring to him that she wanted him  _now_.

 

All thoughts of dreams, both his and hers disappeared as he lost himself with her. He could not help but think to himself that was exactly what she intended.

 

 


	71. Chapter 71: Alayne/Sansa

Chapter 71: Alayne/Sansa

 

_I must be Alayne.... I must_

 

Ser Jaime had insisted on eating and given he all but  _commanded_ to be taken to Petyr’s quarters, Alayne was obliged to escort him to the solar in her father’s absence. She gave the order for wine and cheese to be brought for the guests. Ser Jaime rewarded her with a charming smile and it was an effort to make her own features behave.

 

She studied both of the guests discreetly as she walked with them. Podrick Payne was much taller but still lacked confidence. He kept darting looks at her but kept his eyes on the floor for the remainder of the time. Jaime Lannister had no such shyness. Even though his clothing was torn and ragged and his beard lacked grooming, the beauty and power he shared in common with his twin radiated from him.

 

Sansa hated him but she was not Sansa, not now.

 

Randa followed behind them and Alayne’s heart hammered in her chest. It would only take one slip and Randa would know. She did not miss anything. Ser Jaime turned to Randa as they entered the solar, asking questions of Lord Baelish’s absence and of happenings in the Vale.

 

Randa grinned wickedly and began to gossip as she did best. Ser Jaime’s laughter rang in the room. Alayne tensed when the subject turned to her.

 

“Lord Baelish will be on his way back very soon. Our new Lord of the Eyrie is about to marry Alayne here.”

 

Jaime Lannister set a look on Alayne then that chilled her to the bone. His voice when he continued speaking gave none of that away though.

 

“Is that so?” he drawled. “That is quite a feat for a bastard girl.”

 

“Oh Alayne here is very special,” Randa’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “She is beautiful and brave and talented at so many things and you only have to look at those big blue eyes to see how innocent she is. Harry is quite in love with her.”

 

Ser Jaime shot her a look as Randa declared her  _innocent_  and Alayne flushed red remembering Joffrey and her disappearance after his death.

 

“See how she blushes,” Randa teased. “She is so terribly modest.”

 

Thankfully the arrival of the wine and cheese saved Alayne from responding. She stepped forward quickly to collect it, dismissing the servant so that she could pour. Alayne wanted Randa to leave but at the same time she feared being left alone with them.

 

“I think I shall write some letters while I await my meeting with Lord... Harrold,” Ser Jaime said. “Mayhaps Alayne might help me.” He raised his golden hand in a clear attempt to lend weight to his request. Alayne saw through it.

 

_He wants to be alone with me._

 

She saw Lothor Brune walk past the doorway. He stopped and looked at Alayne but she smiled and gave him a dismissive wave of her hand in the hopes he would not stay.

 

_He serves Littlefinger, not me._

 

Randa hovered. “If I can be of assistance in any way-“

 

Ser Jaime flashed another charming smile. “You are kind my lady. I believe the Lady Alayne is quite capable.”

 

Myranda Royce left very reluctantly. Jaime Lannister closed the door firmly behind her and Alayne moved quickly, picking up the knife to begin cutting the cheese to serve it. She avoided looking at him.

 

“A-laaayne,” he said slowly, drawing out the syllables of the name. She took a breath and kept cutting though her hands were unsteady. “I take it this was Littlefinger’s idea.”

 

Alayne willed her voice not to shake. “I do not know what you mean ser.”

 

Ser Jaime snorted and walked to the desk, rifling through Petyr’s papers.

 

“Please don’t,” she said quickly as she served slices of the cheese. “He won’t like that.”

 

He ignored her. “I know all about kingslaying you know,” he said, one side of his mouth lifting up in a half smile which did not reach his eyes. “Some might say Joffrey deserved to die and I  _know_  some of what he did to Sansa.”

 

She started and her grip tightened on the knife before she let it go with a clatter. He was still shuffling papers and she could not let him continue. She walked over to him and gently tugged the papers away.

 

“You mustn’t,” she said and this time her voice did shake. “Father does not like-“

 

Podrick Payne spoke for the first time. “Father,” he said and Alayne could hear the astonishment in his voice.

 

Jaime Lannister abandoned the papers but he did not look astonished.  _His_ face had darkened and he rounded on her.

 

“I did not like Ned Stark,” he said in a quiet voice “but he was worth far more than Petyr Baelish. I cannot imagine it would please him to know you call  _that_  man father. I  _know_  it would not please your lady mother.”

 

_He does not have the right to judge me. His sister and his son killed my father. They killed Robb and my mother. I would not be Alayne if not for them._

 

She glanced at the door, fearful that somebody might be listening before her anger overtook her and words rushed from her in a fit of madness.

 

“I do not believe a  _Lannister_  has the right to speak of what might please either Eddard or Catelyn Stark.”

 

They looked at each other steadily for a moment before Ser Jaime smiled. “There it is.” He glanced at the door and Alayne realised he had read her reaction and knew what was going on. “Come sit with us Alayne.”

 

She blinked away the beginning of tears at the thought of her parents. She watched him calmly take a seat and wondered what game he was playing.  _I must be Alayne_. She took her place at the table and served herself some cheese.

 

“I am writing to Winterfell,” Ser Jaime said casually. “Mayhaps you will assist me.”

 

Alayne promptly recalled another letter and Cersei telling her what to write.  _I do not want to do this again_. Something must have shown on her face.

 

“There is a person there who I trust,” Jaime Lannister explained. “I believe she is close to little Lord Rickon.”

 

Fear shot through Alayne.  _Cersei has somebody in Winterfell._  She knew she needed to be clever, to play the game as Petyr told her to but she struggled to think. All she could remember was father and mother and Robb.  _It is going to happen again._

 

“Please, don’t hurt Rickon,” she whispered.

 

Jaime Lannister looked at her strangely then smiled a smile which made her heart clench.

 

“If she harmed him they would not see it coming,” he said, looking amused.

 

Alayne blinked away tears, her fear mixing with anger.  _He thinks this is funny._  If she were not afraid for Rickon she would be looking for a way to hurt him.  _Petyr would know what to do._

“I’ll make you a deal,” Ser Jaime said, looking thoughtful. “If you do exactly what I say without question I will tell them he is not to be mistreated.”

 

Alayne felt like a little girl again.  _I have no choice._  She nodded.

 

She escorted him to his meeting with Harry, accepting Harry’s kiss self consciously.  _Ser Jaime is Tyrion’s brother_. She could feel his eyes on her. She made to leave but Ser Jaime suggested she stay.

 

“You are his betrothed after all,” he said lightly. “This will be of interest to you too.”

 

_He wants to watch me, to make sure I don’t do anything when I leave._

 

She took a seat and listened as Jaime Lannister explained that he was an envoy of the mountain clans. Some of the Lords of the Vale were there and Alayne felt disappointed that Lyn Corbray wasn’t in attendance.  _He might have unsheathed Lady Forlorn._  It would not do any good though.  _Rickon would still be in danger and it might get him killed._  She sat with her hands folded in her lap, eyes cast down demurely but listening intently as those in attendance expressed doubts as to Ser Jaime’s intentions.

 

Bronze Yohn Royce had arrived for the wedding and it was he who expressed the doubts Alayne could sense from the others’ expressions.

 

“Why should we believe you are an envoy,” he said scornfully. “The Lannisters time is drawing to a close. I’d rather challenge you in the yard, have justice for the Young Wolf. His brother and sister should have had our aid long ago.”

 

Jaime Lannister did not look worried. “The Lannisters still have friends,” he said. “Mine can cause you a lot of trouble if any harm comes to me. Besides, I have the protection of guest right.”

 

The faces on the lords in the room were malevolent and Alayne knew they were thinking of the Red Wedding. She knew that the right words might bring Ser Jaime’s downfall but his words about Rickon stayed with her.

_If Ser Jaime dies then Cersei might kill Rickon._

 

Alayne was not sure what Jaime Lannister hoped to achieve from the meeting. His request that they open the gates to meet the mountain clans was denied but Alayne noticed that Ser Jaime did not look surprised or disappointed.

 

He had written the letter to Winterfell on his own in the end but Alayne knew one thing the letter contained.  _He told them he found me._  He also wrote another letter and Alayne expected that was for his sister.  _I will be killed as a Kingslayer._ She thought of Robert Arryn and hearing her name in the godswood.

 

_Mayhaps this is my punishment._

 

He gave her strict instructions, secret instructions and Alayne sat in her chambers alone, thinking. For a time all she wanted to do was weep before she realised she had an opportunity.

 

 _Petyr will stop this and kill Ser Jaime_.

 

She was not certain if that was preferable. Petyr was no better than the Lannisters, he simply wore his mask better. Rickon would be no safer. The second thought she had was more comforting.

 

_Arya will find this out. The army will capture Ser Jaime before we ever reach Kings Landing._

 

She rifled through her gowns and jewels, all gifts from Petyr. It was with sadness that she left them all and donned a plain roughspun dress and cloak. She kept her head lowered as she left her chambers and nobody took any notice. Ser Jaime barely gave her a second glance as she joined Pod.

 

The guards questioned him as they left through the gates. Ser Jaime had warned her what would happen if she spoke, he would reveal her and she would risk her brother. She stayed silent. When Ser Jaime told the guards that one of the serving girls formed an attachment to Pod, they snorted and let them pass.

 

The trip to the Bloody Gate reminded Alayne of leaving Kings Landing in a way only then she was escaping the Lannisters and she was full of hope.  _I was still just a stupid little girl._  She thought of Randa with a pang, their friendship was based on a lie but Alayne would miss her.

 

They had no more trouble as they passed through the Bloody Gate. Darkness had fallen and the guards there were even less concerned about a servant girl. As the gate closed behind them and they rode out to the foothills it all seemed so final. Pod was stammering, trying to reassure her but Alayne did not truly hear him. All she knew was they were taking her to Cersei. It was a long way to Kings Landing though and she knew anything could happen.

 

_Arya will find us. Please don’t let her still be angry with me._

 

All she had to do was survive until then.  _I am a Stark_  she told herself as they drew farther and farther from the Vale.  _I can be brave_. Her courage failed her however when faced with the mountain clans. She saw Ser Jaime smile at her in the moonlight.

 

“They are fond of my brother. You are his lady wife. They won’t harm you.”

 

He introduced her to them and she started at the use of her real name.  _I am Sansa Stark again._  The clansmen did not dwell on Sansa very long. They began to fire questions at Ser Jaime.

 

“You will have war I’m afraid,” he replied though his smile looked cocky, almost gleeful.

 

Sansa began to realise what he had done. She fought the urge to try and return to the castle. Instead of being unhappy, the clansmen cheered.

 

“We will have to leave you to it,” Jaime said quite calmly. “My goodsister must be removed from the path of the fighting. I expect they will be out to meet you sooner rather than later.”

 

A large hairy man with a deep voice stepped forward. “So soon?”

 

Jaime Lannister’s smile reminded Sansa eerily of his twin.

 

“You had best prepare yourselves. It seems that the new lord of the Eyrie has misplaced his betrothed.”

 

Sansa froze, waiting for them to realise what Jaime had done. Instead they scratched their heads and began to argue about women who  _had_  been snatched coming out of the gate and which one  _might_  have been the one the Vale lord wanted.

 

“Come Lady Sansa,” Ser Jaime said, more gently this time. “It might be dark but we best be on our way.”

 

“I can’t ser,” she protested in a whisper. “Harry thinks he loves me. I can’t cause a war.”

 

Jaime Lannister’s smile cut. “Don’t flatter yourself my lady. It was always going to be war. Your absence will merely bring it on more quickly.” He looked at her sharply. “Do you  _want_  to marry him?”

 

It was on the tip of her tongue to respond to him just as she had of Joffrey back in Kings Landing. Instead she lowered her eyes. “I am already married ser.”

 

His smile softened. “Come along then. I will try to keep you safe.”

 

Sansa lifted her head and looked at him.  _Lannisters lie._ The lesson she had learned in Kings Landing had stayed with her. Lannisters had killed her father. She would not trust any of them again. She could  _never_  trust any of them again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make Sansa's leaving be plausible but it was really hard. I have wanted her out of there for a while but it is one of those tricky situations. I think she has lost so much she might take a risk for her remaining family members (under certain circumstances) but who knows.


	72. Chapter 72

**Chapter 72**

Arya felt focused as they left Pinkmaiden. The men no longer questioned her about her injuries. The soreness was no longer noticeable and Arya did not want anybody making exceptions for her. She did not want to be treated differently.

 

It  _was_  hard riding long days (or as long as they could given winter). She tried to concentrate on the outcome, on seeing her brothers again soon. Before she left Pinkmaiden she had written to Jon and Rickon. Even after speaking with Aegon she still felt torn but she knew she couldn’t just leave for the North. After Aegon told her of the attack on Jon she had spoken with the man from the Night’s Watch again. He scoffed at the suggestion of her going to Jon.

 

“This is Night’s Watch business. The Lord Commander cannot have his sister at the Wall.”

 

Arya did not think Jon would send her away but she wasn’t sure. It made no matter. Aegon was right, her men would not want to leave for the North and she had business to finish. If she wanted to go to her brothers then that had to be dealt with first. She also had to admit to herself that part of her did not want to leave for another reason. She glanced over at Aegon riding in the centre of the column not that far from her.

 

_He needs to be King, he is better than the Lannisters._

 

She did not want to go to Harrenhal but it was necessary to stop somewhere on the way to Kings Landing. Ravens reached them reporting that the Blackwoods were now allies. Arya knew the remaining Riverlands forces would meet them at Harrenhal.

 

She ate dinner with her men every day, trying to speak with different ones each night as her father used to. She wore her crown as she mingled with them as was expected of her. The march gave her some reprieve from her suitors but they did persist. She tried to be nice without encouraging them but it felt awkward even though she used her training well. Their attentions made her uncomfortable especially when Aegon was near. He did not disguise his unhappiness well. Her uncle advised her that he put off their requests and that annoyed her. They did not ask her personally.

 

“They think of me as your guardian,” Ser Brynden explained with amusement in his blue eyes. “I think they also thought they might stand more of a chance asking me. At least this means I bear the brunt of their disappointment.”

 

“I can handle things myself,” she protested.

 

“I don’t doubt it,” he said gently “but let me do this for you. That way you can concentrate on what you  _have_  to do.”

 

A few days into the march they arrived at Stoney Sept. Lord Connington did not want to stop there. Arya heard him trying to convince Aegon that they should camp well away from the town but darkness was too close. She found him brooding in his tent.

 

“If you said something earlier we might have gone around it.”

 

He glowered at her. “Why are you not with your own men?” Arya ignored his irritation and dragged a camp stool over to sit with him. He set his pale blue eyes on her and she knew he wanted her gone. “You are a combination of two of the three things I hate about this place.”

 

Arya didn’t flinch. “Why is that my lord?”

 

He snorted. “Don’t pretend to be stupid. Your father and your Tully grandfather came to aid Robert. If the people here had not been hiding him-“

 

“Rhaegar would still be alive,” she finished. “If I can go to Kings Landing then you can manage to camp  _outside_  that town.”

 

He frowned and fell silent for a while. Arya saw him slowly moving the fingers on his bad hand. “No good will come of us being here. They will not want us so close.”

 

Arya thought back to when she had visited the town with the brotherhood. She remembered the talk of the damage inflicted in the Battle of the Bells. “You are not wrong,” she admitted “but we will not be here long.”

 

Lord Connington shifted a little and Arya noted the way he held his arm. The movement was rigid. She had only seen him briefly in meetings. She had not really spent time with him since Thoros had managed to heal the infection. She now realised it had come with a cost.

 

_His greyscale is worse._

 

She decided not to draw attention to it.  _Magic always comes with a cost_. Instead she stood and stretched a little. “I will leave you be my lord.”

 

When she rose the next morning, there was a stir through the camp. By the end of the day’s ride she had discovered why. The news rapidly spread that a whore had been killed in Stoney Sept. Arya felt uncomfortable but she didn’t feel truly worried until she passed Thoros sitting by his fire after dinner. He looked burdened and when she sat with him he shook his head slowly.

 

“You have heard?”

 

“Yes.” She chewed on her lip for a moment wrestling with a thought which had become increasingly disturbing. “I hope it wasn’t one of my men.”

 

Thoros gave her a rueful smile. “No, the Northmen lacked a reason. This was done for Prince Aegon.”

 

Arya felt a chill down her spine. “No,” she snapped. “Aegon wouldn’t.”

 

Thoros sighed. “I hope you are right.”

 

She shifted uncomfortably for a moment. “Why do you think it is linked to Aegon?”

 

Thoros did not look at her, instead gazing into the flames. “The woman worked at the Peach. She had Baratheon black hair and Baratheon blue eyes. Her name was Bella for the Battle of the Bells.”

 

“I met her,” Arya blurted, remembering the brothel. At the same time she remembered Gendry.  _He would have been killed too._  It was too much. She leapt to her feet and made her way quickly back to her tent.

 

Nymeria Sand perched on a stool by the brazier and Arya struggled to control her reaction. She was not in the mood for the Dornishwoman. Nym raised an eyebrow and gracefully swept towards Arya.

 

“What is wrong with you?”

 

Arya tensed. “Did you know?”

 

Nym’s expression did not flicker and Arya evaded her overfamiliar attempt to drape her arm around Arya.

 

“What do you speak of?”

 

Arya scowled. “Do you know about the woman who died from Stoney Sept?”

 

To Nym’s credit this time she did not play games. “Yes. I heard the fool entered the camps expecting to make some coin. She thought her parentage would be a selling point.”

 

Arya was almost afraid to ask the next question. Aegon entered before the words left her lips. They had fallen into the habit of talking at the end of the day, usually while their advisors were present. She had not seen him yet that night. Part of her was glad.

 

His smile dropped when he saw the two of them together. Arya could not seem to stop scowling. The disappointment she felt threatened to overwhelm her.  _I thought they were better_. Aegon opened his mouth and she cut him off.

 

“Did you do it?”

 

He frowned. “Are you talking about the whore? Of course not, you know I don’t visit with them.” He stepped closer and reached to touch her arm and she shook him off.

 

“Did you ask somebody else to do it?”

 

Arya studied his expression, dreading the response. She knew he had a temper where the Baratheons were concerned. His mouth twisted and his anger was palpable.

 

“No Arya,” he said through gritted teeth. He wasn’t reaching to touch her now, instead his fingers were curled and Arya could see he was struggling for control. “Why would I bother with some bastard?”

 

Arya shot a glance at Nym. Her expression barely changed but Arya knew the remark must have cut at least a little. Aegon retained some presence of mind because Arya saw his gaze flick to his cousin.

 

“You understand what I mean cousin,” he said stiffly. “I would not consider Robert’s bastards a threat. I’m not going to be sorry though. He sired her on the way to kill my father and I have not forgotten what happened to Rhaenys.”

 

Arya could not bring herself to look at him. “I cannot believe you can speak of your sister and say that of Bella at the same time. It makes you no better than Robert.” She retreated further into the tent and heard a heated exchange between Nym and Aegon in lowered voices.

 

She had discarded most of her knives by the time she heard the footfall behind her.

 

“I had hoped you would leave,” she said in a flat voice.

 

She flinched away from the hand that reached for her. Nym’s voice was soft and lacked her usual playfulness.

 

“You do not know what it has been like. He did not think before he spoke but what he said was true. They butchered Rhaenys, they killed his mother and they would have killed him.”

 

Arya rounded on her, tears of frustration trying to sting her eyes. “That woman was innocent of this. Killing her does not make up for any of it. I  _know_  of losing people, I know of wanting and waiting for justice. Killing Bella wasn’t justice. Killing Bella is something Lannisters would do. I thought he knew better. Leave me.”

 

Nym tried once more to reach for her and when Arya resisted her expression became harder.

 

“You have killed too, don’t forget. Aegon won’t speak of your past but I know enough. You are not innocent. Life is not as simple as you would have it be.”

 

She left Arya alone in the tent, her thoughts swirling around in her head and threatening to overwhelm her. She climbed into her bed, calling for Cara’s company when she entered and tried to draw on her teachings to harden herself for what lay ahead.

 

*

 

Aegon distanced himself though Arya still felt Nym’s presence close by. She knew the Sand Snake monitored her even if she did not directly speak to Arya and kept out of direct sight. They were only a day from Harrenhal when the scouts spotted Sandor Clegane riding towards the camp.

 

Clegane met with Aegon and despite their disagreement Arya made certain to be close enough to overhear. Sandor reported war in the streets of Kings Landing. She heard his raspy voice carry out from inside the pavilion.

 

“The Faith have risen up against the gold cloaks and Westerlands army.”

 

Arya could not help but hear the strain in Aegon’s voice when he replied though there was some satisfaction mixed with it. “Did Cersei get my message?”

 

Sandor snorted. “She got the message alright.”

 

“Did you have any trouble?”

 

There was the slightest moment of silence before the reply. “No, no trouble.”

 

Aegon dismissed Clegane but Arya heard the lie. She didn’t know what the lie was but she knew Sandor kept something back. Lady Nym followed her to her pavilion.

 

“I am about to eat dinner with my men,” Arya said abruptly.

 

Nym stood her ground and Arya could see the Dornishwoman was unhappy. “Clegane is lying. I know you heard him, even if we could not hear you. I know you were there.” She stalked into the pavilion with Arya and her dark eyes were narrowed. “I swore I would kill him if he betrayed us. I  _want_  him dead. Aegon won’t let me. You could convince him.”

 

Arya felt conflicted. “No,” she replied firmly. She would not speak to Aegon, she refused to go to him after their last conversation but Nymeria was not wrong. “I will wait until I know.”

 

Nym snorted and tossed her braid. Arya could not help but notice yet again how much better a lady the Dornishwoman made than her, bastard status or no.  _She doesn’t have to pretend, she doesn’t have to work so hard._  This time Nym had some bronze coloured wire coiled in her hair and she moved gracefully in her woollen gown.

 

“Both of you are fools,” she scoffed. “I will watch him even if you will not.”

 

The proof of Nym’s words came that very night. Arya woke to find Sandor entering her tent. The sound of his sword loose in his scabbard drew her eye. Cara was sleeping in the corner of the tent. She startled as she woke. Arya looked into Clegane’s face in the poor light from the candles and brazier.

 

“Do not be afraid Cara,” she said calmly.

 

Sandor’s mouth twitched and he smiled a ghastly smile. “Cersei asked me to kill you. I could do it.” His hand rested on the hilt of the sword.

 

Arya studied his face.  _He is lying._   _Cersei asked him but he won’t do it._ She discarded the knives she kept near her and rose. Her woollen shift was modest and she had kept her breeches on.

 

“You won’t though. Why am I different?” she asked. “You killed Mycah and you said it yourself, you laughed.”

 

“Why didn’t you kill me that day,” he rasped. “I told you to.”

 

Arya heard Nym at the same time she saw her and Clegane realised a moment later. He drew his sword but Arya called out before the Sand Snake could strike. Sandor wore no armour, he was quick but Nym used poisoned blades like her father and she did not need to be in close range to use them.

 

“Leave us Nym,” she said firmly. The words weren’t even out before Nym had a knife drawn and Sandor’s sword clattered to the ground. Nym paused, blade still in hand as Sandor dropped to his knees. “Leave us,” Arya said again, more softly this time. “Take Cara with you.”

 

The handmaid was only too happy to flee the tent with the Dornishwoman. She cast a worried glance over her shoulder at Arya as she left. Lady Nym lingered longer but she too finally left. Arya knew she would not have gone far.

 

Clegane had his head lowered. “I had to,” he said weakly. “I know now it was wrong but I had to.” He looked up at her. “I was a dog and I had to obey my masters.”

 

“You’re not a dog anymore,” Arya said.

 

“I am,” he replied “but I’m my own dog. I choose now.” A tear rolled down the scarred side of his face. “The Elder brother showed me.”

 

Arya did not know why she did it. She spent so long hating this man but the man before her was not the one who killed her friend.  _That was the Hound, him and Joffrey._  She reached out to him, touching the burned side of his face with her hand. He trembled at her touch.

 

“You torment me, you and your sister both. You are like me but you are like her too. I see it now.”

 

Arya pulled her hand away at the reminder of her sister. “I am not like Sansa.” Sansa was prettier, Sansa was a  _real_  lady. Arya only pretended when she had to.

 

Sandor reverted back to his coarse way of speaking instantly. “You keep telling yourself that she-wolf. You might not be a little bird but you both stupidly want the fucking world to be better than it is.” He rose and turned on his heel. On his way out he called back to her. “Next time you see me don’t touch me. I don’t want your prince taking my head.”

 

“He is not  _my_  prince,” she retorted but Clegane did not hear her. He was gone.

 

*

 

The enormous castle of Harrenhal loomed in the distance long before they were even truly close. Arya felt panic rise inside her briefly as she remembered last time she had been there. She still couldn’t imagine the castle as a place of peace and she strained to see for signs of danger. It was useless from her place in the column until she glimpsed it from the sky. The vision was in sharp focus. Harrenhal’s gloomy towers were just as grotesque and misshapen as she pictured when she thought back. The only change was the Targaryen banner flying proudly above the castle.

 

She spotted a small formation of knights waiting peacefully by the gates just before she returned to herself with intense thoughts of Bran now distracting her from her past. She did not mean to skinchange, the raven was not like Nymeria. Arya could now control when she became the direwolf to a certain extent but that was not the case with the raven. It happened rarely thankfully, usually when she was worried or afraid.

 

Her connection to Bran remained strong whenever she became the bird. Arya liked to be close to her brother but at the same time it frightened her. His feelings and thoughts threatened to confuse her own and she knew the same happened to him. She also worried about how  _much_  he saw. She saw glimpses of his life but there were aspects of hers which were not for anybody else. She dreaded him feeling and seeing her with Aegon. There was also something else.

_Does he know what I have done? Does he know of Braavos?_

 

Bran seemed upset by something, Arya did not know what. It affected her own mood which had not been happy to begin with between Harrenhal, Aegon and thoughts of Baratheon bastards. She watched unhappily from horseback as Aegon greeted the Castellan, a knight who spoke formally and preached on and on about the Seven. Aegon listened patiently but Arya just wanted to go inside.

 

_If I have to be here I want to make good use of my time._

The knight spoke at length. He was respectful but Arya could hear he had conditions. Camp followers were not allowed in the castle. They were declared a font of corruption. The men would find the castle in good order.

 

“We are sheltering some poor fellows on their way to serve the Faith.”

 

Aegon moved on with a look back at Arya. She couldn’t read his expression well from a distance but he seemed to be frowning and he didn’t look at her for long. The knight, Ser Bonifer, shook his head in a pitiful way as she rode past him. Arya held her tongue with difficulty as she heard him speaking to his men about her.

 

“An unwed woman should not be in the midst of an army. She would be best left at home and hearth lest she tempt her men and his.”

 

Arya seethed and her guards shot dark looks at the knight.  _I am a direwolf and I can be brave and fight as well as anybody else._ They rode past to the stables and Arya heard Nymeria Sand raise her voice and knew the Dornishwoman had even worse said of her.

 

Despite Ser Bonifer’s reservations Arya received good quarters in the castle, with fresh rushes on the floor, a stoked fireplace and a featherbed. She delayed going to bed though, instead making her way out to the godswood and the heart tree. She felt drawn there and she knelt before the heart tree to pray for the first time in a long time.

 

It was cold kneeling in the snow and at first she wasn’t sure what to pray for then it all came in a rush. She prayed for Jon, for Rickon, for Sansa and for Bran. Even though she still felt angry at him she also prayed for Aegon. She kept avoiding him but both Nym and Sandor's words made her doubt and she was no longer certain but she did know she didn't hate him, she couldn't hate him. She also prayed for her men and for success against their enemies but it was those she cared most about that she prayed most fervently for.

 

“Please,” she whispered “I have lost my parents and Robb, please just let the rest of them be safe.”

 

She was still kneeling when she heard the whisper of her name and realised that this time she knew what it was. She removed her crown and sat it on the ground beside her.

 

“This crown should be yours Bran. You are the rightful Lord of Winterfell.  _You_  should be King in the North. I don’t want it and I don’t think Rickon does either.”

 

The only answer was another whisper on the breeze, something she couldn’t make out and Arya wanted to cry from frustration. Bran was the only answer the old gods were going to give her. They did not hear her prayers. If they had then she would not hurt so much. Aegon made her hurt less but now she did not have him and she wasn't sure if she should want to have him. She dropped her head, feeling defeated until she heard a whine.

 

The direwolf approached her looking bedraggled and thin and Arya saw the glowing eyes of Nymeria’s brothers and sisters, her pack in the darkness behind her. She wasn’t sure how they had made it into the godswood but the wolf was just what she needed.

 

_Mayhaps the old gods heard me after all._

 

 


	73. Chapter 73

Chapter 73

 

The wolves remained in the godswood. Arya heard the men speak of it. She gave the order for them not to be harmed and at first light she risked anger by taking food to them. Nymeria snapped and snarled at the smaller wolves, keeping them in line. They were not afraid of Arya and Arya did not fear them but she was not stupid. They killed men and they were quite capable of killing her if not for Nymeria.

 

She heard the whispers afterwards and saw fear in the eyes of people in the castle. They called her half wolf, she-wolf, warg and sorceress. Arya held her head high.  _They once said Robb was half a wolf too_. Her own men, the Northmen, treated her no differently. Nothing had changed for them. She saw Aegon looking at her intently when she went to the great hall for dinner but when their eyes met he looked away.

 

_He is still angry because I compared him to Robert._

It stung her but it also made her angrier. She had chosen to sit with the man in charge of the horses rather than one of her bannermen that night and she tried to focus her attention on him instead. He was explaining to her how many horses had been lost from lack of feed. She nodded, absorbing his words and hoping her expression matched what she should be feeling on the subject. As soon as an appropriate amount of time passed she excused herself.

 

Ser Bonifer set his solemn face on her as she passed him and Arya tried to avoid eye contact with him. It was easier when Lemore was with her. The Septa gave her some protection from judgement. Elsewise she was certain to hear much of sinners and how she would be best off returning to Winterfell. She still heard him behind her.

 

“It is no place for a maiden. The lady must needs repent of her sins and leave before harm comes her way. Her false gods will not protect her.”

 

Arya had to bite back a retort. The poor fellows surrounded him and it might come to blows if she said anything about the gods. There had already been scuffles and Ser Brynden told her Aegon had intervened to avoid bloodshed. Arya was not the only one Ser Bonifer and his men disapproved of. Any who worshipped the old gods were considered dissenters. The Northmen had clashed with them more than once. Thoros was confined to the camps for his own protection.

 

Arya stalked to her quarters finding Cara waiting for her. The handmaid smiled hesitantly when she entered and Arya made sure to return the smile. They sat together, Cara helping Arya with her hair while Arya told her of what she had learned at dinner. She did not need help with her hair but Cara became upset if she resisted so they had settled into a routine. The young woman listened quietly, a little smile on her face. The smile dropped at the same time Arya heard the scuff of a boot.

 

“Lady Nym,” she said without turning to look. She knew that footfall even if she had not known the scent of the Dornishwoman.

 

“We are still friends,” Nymeria said lightly. “There is no need for formalities.”

 

Arya kept her expression neutral as Nym pressed a kiss to her cheek and managed to eject Cara from her chambers without even saying a word. Arya watched the handmaid hurry out wondering whose company she really wanted. She didn’t really know. Nym took the chair Cara had vacated.

 

“He misses you. He has been most terrible company.”

 

Arya pursed her lips. “If he has something to say to me he should tell me himself.”

 

Nym sighed. “He is being most stubborn about it. I have tried to tell him but Lord Connington has his ear and Lord Connington is not your friend.”

 

Arya could picture what Nym was describing.  _Lord Connington would see nothing wrong with Bella’s death either._  She kept her expression calm even though she felt unhappy.

 

“It is better this way anyway. I will be leaving after the battle.”

 

Nym’s expression darkened. “You will really remain so angry with him? You cannot leave him like this.”

 

Arya’s temper flared. “I only agreed to help him take the throne. I always had to leave. My brothers need me.”

 

Nym remained angry. She tossed her ebony hair over her shoulder and set viper eyes on Arya. “You judge him harshly.  _Aegon_  needs you.”

 

Arya knew better than to trust her in this. Nym thought she was clever but Arya knew that the Dornish did not want Daenerys. Arya was certain that Nym’s desire for Arya and Aegon to reconcile was not out of affection for Arya or Aegon.  _They haven’t thought it through_. Arya did not know what might happen if she and Aegon were not arguing and she remained at his side when his aunt met him. She did know it would not be a good outcome.

 

Nym still looked at her with narrowed eyes and Arya’s tone became blunt. “Ask Aegon how different things might be if I did not have mercy for those who have done no wrong.” She picked up her hair brush and waved it in the direction of the door. “I won’t talk about this with you anymore. Leave me be Nym.”

 

The Dornishwoman leapt to her feet, her eyes flashing and her mouth twisted unattractively. “You are both too stubborn.”

 

Arya turned away, pulling the brush through her hair and pretending to pay no more attention to Nym. In truth she could think of nothing but her argument with Aegon and Bella’s death. It brought to mind Gendry and Arya prayed that he was as far away as possible.  _Stubborn bull, I hope he listened to me_. They might not be so close as they used to be but Arya had not forgotten what they went through together. She would not have him share Bella’s fate.

 

It did feel wrong not seeing Aegon and speaking with him. He knew her better than anybody else now and she knew him best too.  _At least_   _I thought I knew him best_. Arya had to leave friends before when she changed faces in Braavos but this hurt more. It felt like there was a void inside her not going to visit with him and even Lord Connington. She did question whether she judged him too harshly. He had overlooked things she had done but then she thought of what might happen if murder of smallfolk was considered acceptable.

 

_I cannot relent first. It will make him think he is right._

Arya did not like games but this was how it had to be. She felt relieved when Cara returned and she did not have to be alone anymore.

 

*

 

The Blackwood men arrived four days after Arya reached Harrenhal. Robett Glover was not with them. Arya met them in the camps and was advised that only part of their forces had arrived.

 

“We sent the rest to Seagard,” Lord Tytos explained. “There are some Frey forces keeping the Mallisters captive. They may have abandoned their cause by now but we could not be certain.”

 

Arya nodded and tried to remain composed. She showed her anger, it was only to be expected that she would be angry but she wanted to rage over the conflict with the Freys still being unresolved.  _I thought I could take them off my list._  She passed Thoros on her way back into the castle and stopped with him briefly.

 

“It isn’t fair that they want to hurt you for what you believe in.”

 

Thoros looked at her rather too knowingly. “Beliefs are often what cause us trouble.”

 

Arya wanted to ask him what he meant but he moved away from her and she was surrounded by other people before she had the chance. She retreated to the godswood to see Nymeria and pray at the heart tree once more. When she returned to the castle she ate her dinner in the Barracks Hall instead, mingling with the men-at-arms and a select few of her bannermen who chose to join her.

 

She knew many of them. Arya had resumed training and she saw some of them in the training yard. She also tried to share her time by mixing with different people as her father used to. When she could she joined those who served, not just the lords and knights. It was not quite the same as when she was a girl though, they saw her as queen and it put distance between them. She persisted regardless. She did not want to talk of war and castles and holdings all the time.

 

Ser Raymun, one of the knights attached to the Brackens, insisted on escorting Arya back to her chambers when she took her leave from the Barracks Hall. He had been very persistent in his pursuit of her and Arya could not seem to dissuade him, even when she was rude or wielding a sword. She saw Aegon on her way back to her quarters and in the moment of distraction Ser Raymun took hold of her arm. She wrestled free of him before she reached her door. He did not get the message, pushing inside as she made to leave him.

 

“You must get lonely,” he slurred.

 

Arya knew he had been drinking. She was not sure how he had enough to get drunk. “I have lots of friends,” she said abruptly.

 

“That isn’t the same,” he stepped close enough for her to feel his breath and his hand stroked her arm. “I could make you feel good.”

 

Arya felt for her finger knife. “I highly doubt that,” she said dryly. His eyes were heavy lidded. He was tall and handsome and Arya guessed he had bedded plenty of maidens. “I am your queen,” she reminded him, reaching for the crown on her head. She extricated herself and placed the circlet on the desk in the solar.

 

“You are still a woman.”

 

Arya laughed. “I am a woman who will make sure you never fuck another woman if you don’t leave me be.”

 

He looked angry, even sulky. He stepped towards her again and Arya heard a familiar raspy voice. “If you want to keep your cock I suggest you listen to her.”

 

Sandor Clegane filled the doorway. He wore a hooded cloak but Arya recognised him instantly. Ser Raymun must have too because he darted from the room with haste.

 

“I didn’t need your help,” she said indignantly.

 

Clegane snorted. “I saved you from having to get blood on your floors. A little gratitude might be nice.”

 

Arya narrowed her eyes. “Ser Bonifer and his men want your head. How have you managed to evade them?”

 

Sandor smiled grotesquely. “I don’t need to tell you about evasion she-wolf. I keep my head down and nobody takes notice. As long as you don’t plan on telling anybody I should manage to keep it a while longer.”

 

Arya watched him go. She wondered why he still remained. He did not want gold, she had worked that out. Her conversation with him in her tent still confused her and she had resolved to leave him be so long as he caused no trouble.  _Something happened to him in King’s Landing with Sansa._  Nym had told her of the beatings her sister received when they argued once more after Sandor left her tent. It made her even more determined to go to King’s Landing.

 

It was still hours before bed and Cara and Lemore came to join her. Cara sat with a pile of Arya’s clothes before her trying to mend all the tears. Arya still sewed badly, it was one of the duties she gratefully gave over to the handmaiden. She had been reading a little while by her candle with the two women for company when she heard a familiar tread and confirmed who it was by Lemore’s smile alone. Cara started and moved to rise but Arya shook her head at her.

 

“Aren’t you worried our womanly parts will corrupt you?” she asked.

 

Aegon’s laugh was the same as it had always been. The sound made her want to smile but she remembered she was still mad and contained it. His voice was half japing and half serious when he spoke.

 

“Ser Bonifer is quite vocal on the subject but I decided it was worth the risk. I have letters for you.”

 

Arya turned to look at him. He held the unopened letters in his hand and looked uncertain. She leapt to her feet and ripped them from his hand, seeing him smile again.

 

“You could have sent a messenger with these.”

 

His smile dropped. Arya sat back at the desk to look at the seals. One was from Winterfell, the other bore the seal of the Night’s Watch.  _These are from Jon and Rickon_. Her eyes stung and she rubbed at them roughly before breaking the seal on the one from Winterfell first. She heard Aegon and Lemore talking and blocked them out. Disappointment hit her when she saw it was not from Rickon after all but from Brienne.

 

_Queen Arya,_

_I know you must be displeased with me. Harwin and Gendry arrived at Winterfell and told me of Lady Stoneheart. I did not know how to tell you. No matter what I do I seem to fail somebody and for that I am sorry. I am still in your service if you wish me to remain so. Rickon is as well as possible even though he persists in being wilful. He has freed Theon Greyjoy. Alysane Mormont is ensuring he remains under close watch._

_Brienne_

 

Arya made certain to hide her reaction to the letter and once she finished reading it she rose and dropped it into the fire. She saw Aegon pause and study her with concern on his face as she returned to the desk to read the second letter.  _I will reply, I’m just not ready yet_. She was relieved to hear that Gendry was far away though she wondered how old the letter was. It hurt to have no word from Rickon.

 

_He is still wroth with me for leaving him._

The second letter was from Jon. She recognised the handwriting instantly.

 

_Dearest Arya,_

_Times grow more perilous in the North. I do worry about you waging war in the South but part of me is selfishly grateful you are away from the reach of the cold and what it brings. I fear a time will come soon when I will wish for you to bring Rickon to join you. As much as I worry about those around you, it would ease my mind to know you and Rickon were sheltering away from the threat when it comes. Please be safe._

_Jon Snow_

 

Arya read the letter three times and each time it hurt more. He did not call her little sister.  _He does not want me near_. Part of her wanted to rush straight to the Wall and demand answers even though she knew it to be foolish. She was still staring at the letter when Aegon’s voice cut across.

 

“I am told the raven from Winterfell waited here for some time but the one from the Night’s Watch only arrived today.”

 

Arya nodded dumbly but did not reply to him. She heard him approach and stiffened as he rested his hand hesitantly on her shoulder.

 

“Arya,” he said softly “Was it bad news?”

 

She stood quickly, folding up the parchment. “It is nothing to speak of with you.”

 

She knew instantly she had hurt him. His expression clouded over and his mouth set in a grim line. He turned to leave and Arya wanted to take it back. She turned to glance at Cara and saw the handmaid had her head bent over the sewing still. She was clearly trying to pretend she wasn’t listening. Arya darted forward and caught Aegon’s sleeve. He still scowled as he paused but he did stop. She thought quickly.

 

“Cara could you fetch me some water?”

 

The young woman did not speak as she rose and hurried from the room. Arya studied Aegon, remaining silent until the door closed. Lemore stayed but the septa needed to stay. Harrenhal was not a place for Arya to be seen alone with Aegon and they all knew that.

 

“Why did you come here?”

 

The scowl faded into petulance instead and Arya could see Aegon wrestling with himself. “You are avoiding me. We have never quarrelled like this before.”

 

“You never gave me reason to quarrel with you like this before.”

 

Aegon looked frustrated. He ran his hand through his hair and exhaled loudly.

 

“Is that why you now allow Ser Raymun to get close?”

 

Arya wanted to shout at him. She very nearly did.  _He is jealous._  She moved away from him, sitting in a chair and crossing her legs. “The only thing Ser Raymun came close to was finding out how sharp I keep my knives.”

 

Lemore gasped before resuming a pretence at being invisible. The corners of Aegon’s mouth twitched and Arya knew he wanted to smile. “Nym told me what you said about mercy. You made things difficult. I had to avoid her questions about what it meant.”

 

Arya frowned. “She would not let up. I said it to make her leave but you know it is true.”

 

Aegon began to pace. “I don’t understand why you are so angry. I did not kill the whore.”

 

Arya took a steadying breath. “The whore had a name. They called her Bella. You condone her killing so you should know who she was.”

 

Aegon stopped. “She was Robert Baratheon’s bastard. I do not condone it.” He sighed. “I spoke with Thoros. I did not know you knew her.”

 

“Whether I met her does not matter,” Arya said, suppressing her irritation. “It is still wrong and you  _do_  condone it by not condemning it.”

 

Aegon faltered. “Lord Connington is adamant I should not be bothered about it. They will do worse if given the chance.”

 

Arya’s anger threatened to boil over and she knew it showed on her face. “I fail to see how a young woman who was a bastard could do anything considered worse. Do you think that makes it right?”

 

“You sound like Thoros.”

 

“Thoros can make a lot of sense.”

 

“He tells me you behave much as your father did when Robert did not condemn the deaths of my family only... your father left.”

 

Arya stiffened at the comparison and the reminder of her father. “I might have left too if the North did not have to take part in the battle.”

 

Aegon looked horrified. “No.”

 

Arya met his gaze without backing down. He stepped towards her quickly, the emotion still clear on his face and Arya knew he wanted to make amends. Her pulse quickened and she uncrossed her legs ready to get to her feet and accept his affection. It seemed like it had been so long. She  _wanted_  to tell him of her brothers, to have him make her feel better.

 

Just before he reached her he stopped and shook his head. His expression hardened. “You cannot dictate to me what is right and wrong. I cannot be led by a woman, no matter who that woman is.” He spun on his heel and left leaving Arya reeling.

 

Lemore shot to her feet and was by Arya’s side in moments. “He is just proud,” she said in a soft voice as she smoothed Arya’s hair. “He always has been especially with Lord Connington telling him tales of Rhaegar. I was surprised he came here at all.”

 

Arya let the septa think she was offering comfort. Aegon’s words only confirmed her fears for the fate of others like Gendry. She had a decision to make. She wondered what her father would do. He left Robert but Arya thought she might be able to reach Aegon. His visiting her quarters meant something.  _He is listening to the wrong people._  His words stung in the moment but she saw past them to the struggle within him.

 

_He is repeating somebody else. He is not certain._

 

Arya might be able to make him see but not in Harrenhal. In Harrenhal she needed to distance herself. She needed to be separate and ignore the looks from her uncle and anybody else who wondered why she and the prince no longer conversed as they once did. Arya had to play a part and  _that_  was something she was good at.

 

*

 

Arya wrote her letters back to Jon and Brienne. Both were difficult. She informed Brienne she wanted her continued service. The letter sounded abrupt but Arya couldn’t seem to make it sound any better. Her letter to Jon stated that her place was in the North and nothing short of death would keep her from returning once the fighting was done.

 

One thing she did enjoy about Harrenhal was the bathhouse. Ser Bonifer’s men frowned at her when she entered but she ignored them. They made sure she bathed with only female company. It felt good to soak in the hot water and the guards on the door meant she could relax even though her training ensured she never truly let her guard down.

 

She knew Bran watched her in the godswood and she told him everything she could think of. Every so often she heard him in the rustle of the leaves but he only truly spoke to her in her dreams. She knelt before the heart tree, the wolf pack watching her and removed her crown for every visit. It felt wrong to wear it and she told him so.

 

“One day,” came the answer on the breeze.

 

Thoughts of her brothers and her missing sister had to be pushed aside when the men from Seagard and the rest of the Blackwood army arrived. Arya met them, greeting Robett Glover warmly.

 

“I am pleased at your safe return my lord.”

 

The new Lord Robett looked pleased. “The remaining Frey men posed little trouble your grace,” he assured her. “Most had retreated to the Twins before the castle was taken.“

 

Arya nodded trying not to be bothered that she had not been there herself. She was glad Lord Robett was back. She took him and Lord Jason Mallister with her to a meeting of her bannermen. There they discussed the plans for the march to Kings Landing. A raven reported that Lord Manderly’s fleet were still sailing but would never reach the Blackwater in time for the battle, let alone the Citadel where they planned to lend aid. They did not confer long before reaching a consensus.

 

“We will have to attack without them,” Arya announced. “They can continue on to the Citadel after the city is taken.”

 

She asked her uncle to speak with Aegon and tell him of their plans. Ser Brynden frowned. “You cannot keep avoiding him.”

 

“I won’t,” Arya said quickly. She thought for a moment. “I will come with you.”

 

Aegon looked surprised when they joined him with his men. Arya noticed immediately that Lord Connington looked displeased. He also looked guilty. She began to tell them of the men and of the Manderly fleet.

 

“We can be ready to march whenever you wish.”

 

Aegon appeared tired as he considered what she said and Arya remembered what he told her of his dreams. She fought hard to keep strong.  _I cannot be his friend now._

 

“We march the day after tomorrow,” he announced. “That will give us time to ready the supplies.”

 

Arya left him after giving her assent but she did not get far before Lord Connington stopped her. She told her uncle to go ahead before turning on him.

 

“You have been telling Aegon things to keep him from me.”

 

Connington did not deny it. “He needs to stand on his own. You will not remain much longer.”

 

“That is true,” Arya agreed and she saw Connington’s surprise. “Driving a wedge between us was hardly necessary. I already took measures to create distance. He needs good counsel now, not manipulation.”

 

She immediately saw Lord Connington become offended. “I only ever offer him my best counsel,” he said gruffly.

 

“Was it your best counsel to tell him that killing bastards makes no matter?”

 

Connington glowered at her. “Do not presume-“

 

She cut him off. “I presume nothing. I  _know_  that beginning his reign by walking over the corpses of a previous king’s children is a little too like history repeating itself. If you would have them die because of who their father was I dread to think what you originally had planned for me.”

 

Lord Connington paled and she knew she had struck a nerve. She saw him look past her over her shoulder and realised his reaction wasn’t for her. She heard the footsteps behind her and didn’t resist as Aegon took hold of her arm and guided her until they reached an empty chamber. He let go of her.

 

“We can’t be seen together,” she hissed. “If the others saw-“

 

“I won’t keep you long.” Aegon’s voice was clipped and his face strained.

 

“How much did you hear?”

 

“I followed you. I thought you might have known but Lord Connington clearly didn’t.”

 

Arya had thought somebody was listening. The conversation was not one she was ashamed of. She did not realise it was Aegon though. She had been close to saying something about Connington’s arm. She now didn’t know whether to be grateful for the interruption or not. She started as Aegon’s fingers brushed against the side of her face. He jerked his hand back.

 

“I would never allow you to be harmed. It would not matter who it was. You cannot think I would ever have accepted that.”

 

Arya bristled. “You considered my father a traitor too. Why am I different to those who share Robert’s blood but never even knew him?”

 

Aegon blinked. “I love you,” he whispered and she heard him swallow loudly. “I would hunt down anybody who hurt you or your blood.”

 

“What of Robert’s other bastards?” she pressed. “He was known for whoring. Will you turn a blind eye to their deaths too?”  _If you find Gendry what will you do?_

 

Aegon hesitated. “I don’t know what you expect me to say,” he said unhappily. “Lord Connington-“

 

“Do not blindly take counsel from anybody,” Arya said as she moved away from him. “Lord Connington wants you to have the throne so badly he will do things you cannot imagine. If you really love me you will not accept terrible things done in your name. I thought you were better than that.”

 

He reached for her but she darted away from him quick as a snake until his arms dropped to his sides. “I am,” he protested.

 

Arya reached out for just a moment and he closed his eyes as she cupped the side of his face. “Words are wind Aegon. Prove it.”

 

She made sure she was gone before he opened his eyes. Arya did not see what action he took afterwards. She busied herself with the Northmen and those from the Riverlands. The preparations for the march took up all her time. The next time she saw Aegon was in the column when they set out down the Kingsroad. He looked grimly determined.

 

Arya had her own determination as each moment took her closer to Kings Landing. She was so close, so very close to finishing what she had started. The names repeated in her head as she drew closer to the city where she would find them.  _Queen Cersei, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei, Ser Meryn, Valar Morghulis._

 

The wolves were following and she heard them howl.

 


	74. Chapter 74: Jaime

Chapter 74: Jaime

 

Jaime began to wonder how they had ever made it up the High Road to the Vale. The snow began to fall heavier and the road was almost impassable on the way back down. Going was slow. Some of the clansmen insisted on accompanying them. Jaime had not been happy about it at the beginning, especially now that a woman formed one of their company but the Lady Sansa remained unmolested (for now) and the clansmen did offer some protection alongside the advantage of gathering scarce food.

 

_A Lannister must pay his debts._

Jaime did not know how he was to fulfil the agreement. They made it clear that they would follow until they got their gold and he could not argue with it but too many obstacles lay between them and Casterly Rock. Pod was clearly uncomfortable even though the clansmen were not new to him. He stuck close by the Lady Sansa’s side even though he still barely managed to look at her and the two of them had been forced to resort to sharing a horse.

 

It provided him with endless amusement at first. Pod seemed afraid to be near her and Lady Sansa looked briefly horrified. She then accepted assistance (albeit she really had no choice) to get on the horse, blushing very prettily. Pod did not seem to know what to do having a Lady in such close proximity and it took him the best part of a day to just relax and concentrate on keeping his seat on the horse so that his passenger could keep her own seat.

 

Their party made a comical sight. Jaime’s good sister concealed her misery with courtesy and smiles which although he knew them to be fake after his experience in the castle, were rather convincing nonetheless. The clansmen with their odd appearance were quite taken with her, calling her “Halfman’s wife” which she accepted with better grace than Jaime ever would have expected. She expressed just enough interest in them, finding out what made them tick and Jaime couldn’t help but be impressed. She asked in a voice which suggested actual regard, almost as though she cared but Jaime saw the fear in her eyes when the weapons came out or the scuffles between clansmen began.

  
Sansa Stark might look like her mother but Jaime noted her discomfort. The young woman was clearly unaccustomed to life outside a castle. She did not complain though she did ask questions every so often about when they might shelter. He saw the look on her face at the sight of the food, the way she tried to smooth the plain woollen gown she wore and her dismay as it became increasingly dirty. She eyed the animal skin cloaks offered to her with brief distaste before accepting them rather than freeze.

 

_Cersei would rage against it. She might fancy herself as Tywin with teats but she would not adapt._

 

It was when things went wrong that Sansa’s composure would slip and the look she gave him when she thought he did not see reminded him of Cersei. She looked at him with loathing in her Tully blue eyes and Jaime did not doubt she wished him some gruesome death. Her expression also reminded him uncomfortably at times of her mother and of the Blackfish and Edmure. There was one thing which set her apart.

 

_She does not call me Kingslayer._

 

It would of course make her a hypocrite if she did. He wondered how much of her courtesy and cooperation came from fear for her brother and how much came from fear of the men she travelled with. He saw her look back and knew she wanted to return the way she came. He did not blame her despite her hatred of him.

 

_She is hungry and truly cold for likely the first time in her life._

 

She glanced back once more about four days into their journey down the High Road. Jaime looked in the same direction seeing the snow mounting up behind them.

 

“There is no point looking back my lady.”

 

She gave him a forlorn look. “Will the war have started ser?”

 

Jaime shrugged. “I believe so. The snow might slow them down as it has with us.”

 

“The Vale has many swords,” she said slowly.

 

Jaime shook his head. “Do not think of rescue my lady. The enemy they fight is not one they know. We will be well away.”

 

Pod focused on his reins and remained silent. Jaime thought Sansa might do the same but she pushed on even though her face had taken on a pinched look of despair. “May I ask how long it will take to reach King’s Landing?”

 

Jaime could not hold back his laughter. “In this weather it would take close to a moon,” he said when he composed himself. “Are you trying to calculate when you might make your escape?”

 

She blushed a little as she quickly made a denial. “I will keep to our agreement ser,” she said in a slightly haughty tone. Her voice became hushed, less confident as she continued. “You will make certain my brother remains unharmed?”

 

Jaime smirked. “Not a hair on his head will be harmed. You have my word.”

 

For a brief moment a true expression crossed her face and Jaime could see what she thought of his  _word_. He sighed. He knew he might have a better time of it if he told her the truth but he would wager his golden hand she would never believe him anyway. It most certainly would not change the way she looked at him when she thought he did not know. He was not sure what was worse, the misery or the hate.

 

_I will tell her when we reach the Crossroads._

 

He could hear Brienne now telling him there was no honour in the lies he had told. No matter how many times he told her she would not accept it.  _Truth has limited power when nobody believes you have the honour to do what you claim to do._  It would not change the lectures he expected when he saw her next if the gods were good enough to let him live that long.

 

_The gods are seldom good._

By the time they reached the Crossroads the snow was still heavy but they were through the worst of it. He saw Lady Sansa’s face light up as the inn came into view. It would be a far cry from the rather poor makeshift shelters they had been using. He saw her hope and she darted a glance at him.

 

“You will be able to bathe here and mayhaps they will offer a change of dress.”

 

Jaime did not know what to expect. As she was helped from her horse the Lady Sansa inclined her head.

 

“That would be most kind ser.”

 

There was a look in her eyes which led him to believe that  _kind_  was the last opinion she truly had. He watched her closely as they approached the yard. The clansmen became rather boisterous in their own enthusiasm at finding better shelter. Their enthusiasm faded at the sight of the armed children greeting them. Jaime pushed through to the front before the situation could escalate.

 

“Jeyne,” he greeted the tall girl before turning to her sister. “Willow, there is no need.”

 

They gave him identical looks of disdain before lowering but not discarding their weapons.

 

“Kingslayer,” Jeyne replied.

 

“Not the only one this time. May I present the Lady Sansa.”

 

He beckoned and Sansa slowly moved forward with Pod close by her side. Jaime hissed at her to remove her cloak and she did after a brief hesitation. Her eyes were downcast.

 

“Wasn’t she meant to have red hair?” Willow asked bluntly.

 

“It will be red enough once the dye washes out. You best get news to the Lady.”

 

The two sisters exchanged a look. “What are they doing here?” Willow asked, pointing at the clansmen.

 

“They are family friends,” Jaime replied, trying to keep his patience. “They will move on with me once I have held up my oath.” _They will move on once they get their gold or kill me for not providing it._  “Are you going to pass on the message?”

 

“Lady Stoneheart is dead,” Jeyne replied softly. “She is at peace now.”

 

“How?” he asked in surprise. He wasn’t truly sorry. That vision haunted his sleep.  _It wasn’t right making her live like that._  He had been more than uncomfortable at the thought of subjecting her daughter to that spectre. He had even tried to think of ways out of it but his need for freedom outweighed it and he did swear his oath to Catelyn Stark. He had hoped the ravens he sent might help, might lessen the duration of horror the girl experienced but now...

 

“Queen Arya disbanded the Brotherhood,” Willow said in a hard voice. Jaime heard Sansa gasp at the mention of her sister’s name. “All the better men left.”

 

Jaime managed to fill in the gaps. “She left you with the worst.” He could see it now. The broken men had nothing better to go to. With their purpose gone, they would turn to even worse crimes.

 

_Stupid girl. She had no idea what game she was playing._

“She didn’t mean to,” Jeyne said defensively. Her voice trailed off. The excuse seemed rather weak given what Jaime knew they faced. He remembered the outlaws of years past, those of his youth. Jaime knew of dealing with outlaws. He looked around the inn. It did not look worse for wear. The children clearly remained defiant.

 

“How have you been getting by?” he asked.

 

Jeyne opened her mouth but it was Willow who answered. “We have our ways.” Jaime recognised the stubborn jut of her jaw and knew no further information would pass her lips.

 

The sisters allowed them entry. Jaime was not fooled. He knew it was Sansa they welcomed, not him. Lady Sansa might be a kingslayer but she was daughter to Lady Catelyn Stark and sister to Queen Arya Stark and the prolonged search for her clearly outweighed the accusations against her. Jaime wondered if they were truly willing to overlook it.

 _She will still answer for it._  Jaime knew.  _Men do not overlook such things even if she does get a pardon. This lack of questions and judgement is temporary._

 

Some hard dry bread was produced and offered to “Princess Sansa.” Jaime saw her startle at the title then accept the food courteously. None was offered to Jaime and the other men. None could be spared according to the Heddles. Jaime did not press them despite the rancour of the clansmen.

 

When the time came to retire for the night he urged the three older girls to share a room and block the door off for the night. The clansmen had become restless and while they gave their word not to harm “the Halfman’s wife”, Jaime did not like the way they looked at the other older girls. The Heddle sisters obeyed without question.

 

_They know exactly what men are capable of._

 

It was a long night. He and Pod took turns staying awake. The clansmen grew restless but they eventually moved into other empty rooms. Some went out into the yards and Jaime hoped they weren’t stealing from the inn before deciding that theft was the least thing he should worry about when it came to  _these_ men.

 

Jaime was still sitting guard as first light began to break. Staying awake was not as easy as when he was young. He recalled his attempted vigil after his father’s death but that brought to mind uncomfortable reminders of Tyrion and of Cersei. His brother, the kingslayer and kinslayer and his sweet sister...

 

_She has been fucking Lancel, Osmund Kettleblack and Moonboy too for all I know..._

The years had not dulled the betrayal. He still needed to return to her, to return for Myrcella.  _Tommen died while I was away._  That was something hard to live with. Tommen was his king but he was also a boy. There was no harm in him, unlike Aerys. Jaime still had his white cloak though after the time elapsed it was no longer white. He laughed to himself, startling Pod awake.

 

_My cloak really is soiled now._

 

He started and realised he must have started drifting asleep when he heard the door to the inn swing open.  _There are horses outside too._  He blinked and in the poor lighting he thought for a moment he had seen a ghost.  _He is dead. He died at the Tower of Joy. Damn these memories of Aerys._

 

As he managed to focus he realised his mistake. This man was far too young, only barely a man grown. There was a resemblance, the pale blond hair and dark eyes. They looked purple just as Ser Arthur’s had. The young man also wore the expression Jaime might have expected from Ser Arthur had he lived. It was utter disapproval.

 

“You must be a Dayne.”

 

The young man looked him over. “I am Lord Edric Dayne.” The young lord frowned as he saw Jaime’s missing hand and a child stepped out from amongst the group of Lord Edric’s companions. Jaime vaguely recognised the young boy as one of the urchins who had greeted them poorly when they arrived.  _He went for help._ Lord Edric cleared his throat and drew Jaime’s attention again. “You are the Kingslayer.”

 

Jaime noted the sword loose in the young lord’s scabbard. The Daynes were known for their skill. The clansmen were gathering but Edric Dayne had his own men. They were a ragged lot but Jaime sensed they were not to be underestimated.  _They are outlaws but they look disciplined._ The one at Lord Edric’s side had a sheath of arrows in easy reach.  _If he knows how to use his bow it will be a close contest._

 

As if on cue one of the clansmen wrenched out an axe and made a rush at them. Jaime shouted to intervene but was not quick enough. The bow was drawn and the arrow flew true. The man fell before he had even drawn close to them. He was not dead but he was incapacitated. Jaime heard a cry of alarm and saw that Sansa had emerged. He stepped between the clansmen and the new arrivals.

 

“We are not looking to fight.”

 

The grumbles of the clansmen made it sound like a lie. Jaime heard the sound of steel being drawn on both sides. He saw Willow Heddle watching, looking rather more emotionless than he was comfortable with for one so young.  _Mayhaps I should stand aside and let the lot of them kill each other._  In another time he might have.  _If only he did not make me think of Arthur Dayne._

 

“Lord Edric,” he said, thinking quickly. “We will not be staying. We only came here as guests.”

 

He heard the men around the young lord muttering. One of them called him Ned and something was said about guest right. Jaime breathed a sigh of relief.  _At least they recognise it more than the Brotherhood did._  Lord Edric, Ned, looked across the room and Jaime followed his gaze. Sansa still stood frozen on the spot, pale and beautiful with poorly disguised fear etched on her face. His gaze quickly returned to Jaime and his expression was stone.

 

“There is no honour in breaking guest right. I must ask you to come outside.”

 

Jaime snorted. “Speaking of honour, mine may be shit but at least I am not in league with outlaws and broken men.” He cast an eye over the men with Lord Edric once again. “Your uncle fought  _against_  outlaws.”

 

The young lord did not look in the least offended. In fact, he seemed completely unruffled. “The Lannisters betray what good men stand for. When those who are meant to protect and serve the realm fail in their duty it must fall to others. Lord Beric taught me that. I was his squire, you see.” Ned Dayne drew his sword and inspected it. It was good steel and Jaime was not comfortable with how the blade was wielded. “Joffrey and Tommen were not true kings just as Myrcella is no queen. We have taken up the mantle to fight for the realm.”

 

Jaime was unsettled.  _He sounds like Arthur Dayne_. The lad clearly believed in his cause. Those behind him looked just as fervent. These were not the broken men of the brotherhood. Jaime was reminded of Thoros telling him the brotherhood had divided after Stoneheart took the leadership.  _These are the men who refused to follow her dark path._

 

“There is no guest right,” Willow Heddle called out behind him. “They had no bread and salt from us.”

 

Lord Dayne gave a nod. “What is your answer Ser Jaime? Will you step outside or must we subject the children to further horrors?”

 

 _I am going to die today._  Jaime felt calmer than he expected. At least he would have a sword in his hand though it hardly seemed fair that Pod might die with him. He glanced at Sansa. She looked tortured and he wondered why.  _She won’t mourn my death I’m sure though she must fear for what they will want from her afterwards._  The clansmen were already beginning to move. Jaime sighed.

 

“Very well then.” He turned back to Sansa. “I am sorry my lady, it seems I will never get the chance to return you to your family.” He saw her eyes widen.

 

He barely made it to the door before he heard her voice. She was close and he realised she had fallen to her knees and was appealing to Edric Dayne.

 

“Please my lord,” she looked up at the young man and her blue eyes were filled with tears. “You cannot kill him. He spared me from my captor.”

 

The performance was quite touching and Jaime almost felt moved himself. One look at Edric Dayne’s face told him the young man had been affected far more than Jaime. Lady Sansa might not be wearing her finery but she had bathed and the red in her hair began to show. She wore another roughspun dress but the coarseness of her dress did little to distract from her dignity and charm.

 

Ned Dayne took her hand to help her to her feet. He shot a sceptical look at Jaime. “My lady, are you certain about this?”

 

Sansa nodded and sniffled rather daintily. “He must live my lord.” As a faded handkerchief was passed to her she dabbed her eyes and quickly glanced at him. Jaime fought not to smile at the resentment he saw in her expression.

 

_It must have almost killed her to appeal on my behalf._

 

It took a few minutes to calm both the clansmen and the outlaws. Once an uneasy truce was called Jaime drew Sansa aside.  _It is time._

“It is quite fortunate you intervened, good sister,” he said lightly. The look she gave him made him almost eat his words and he had to remind himself of her belief of the threat to her brother. “For a moment there I thought I might not have the chance to return you to Winterfell.”

 

Sansa’s mouth opened and shut. “You are taking me to King’s Landing. You said so Ser.”

 

“No,” Jaime corrected her. “You assumed. I meant for you to meet with people here who knew your mother. They have moved on therefore we must move on too.”

 

She looked at him with a stunned expression which turned to suspicion and disbelief. “Why?”

 

Jaime shrugged. “I made an oath. I may as well keep one of them.”

 


	75. Chapter 75: Victarion

**Chapter 75: Victarion**

Victarion Greyjoy watched sourly as the ships slowly negotiated their way through the Redwyne Straits. His men were unhappy too. They sailed to the other side of the world in the quest for dragons and a queen and it seemed they had neither. Daenerys, with her silver-gold hair and amethyst eyes refused him at every turn. She wanted his ships and all she offered in return for now was the Seastone Chair.

 

The men grumbled when they sailed to Meereen but Victarion swore he would have his prize. He consoled himself that Euron would not have her.  _No godless man can sit the Seastone Chair._  The dragon queen would prove the worth of that. Victarion need not be a kinslayer, accursed by the gods.  _The dragon will do the work._  Daenerys was incensed at Euron aspiring to be king. She tolerated no usurpers, she claimed.

 

Daenerys Targaryen did not use her dragons enough. They were magnificent creatures, formidable weapons of war and conquest but as much as this queen wanted to conquer she also wanted to be loved. The wench was weak but nobody would deny him rulership of the Iron Islands now that he sailed with the dragons.

 

_We are getting closer each day._

 

The winds had favoured them as they crossed the Sunset Sea. Their journey however would not take them directly to the Iron Islands. Instead they were going ashore in the Westerlands. The Imp had a plan. Victarion had never disliked anybody as much as he disliked Tyrion Lannister. The dwarf seemed to be permanently laughing at him and Victarion mistrusted laughter. The queen did not however allow him to kill the Imp no matter how many times he suggested it. He had tried once when the small man began spinning his evil lies and japes and the attempt had been thwarted.

 

_She is soft. He should have been put to death on the spot. He is an enemy, one of the lions._

His men believed that the red priest cursed them. The man was a trickster. That was certain. Victarion did as he asked, his men blew the horn but in the end the horn was not bound to him. The dragon queen claimed it and by some sorcery she was able to blow it without harming herself. The red priest claimed ignorance but Victarion was not convinced.

 

_I should have offered him to the Drowned God the moment I saw him._

Things were changing now though. Moqorro remained by Daenerys’ side from Meereen to Volantis but once the Volantenes were defeated Benerro took the red priests’ place. The high priest claimed the greatest powers and the silver queen gave him her greater attention. Moqorro returned to Victarion with a look the iron captain knew well. Displacement did not suit all servants and something Moqorro saw in his flames displeased him.

 

“You do not trust me Lord Captain,” the red priest said “but I can help you more than I ever have.”

 

He accepted the company of the priest but watched him closely. In the meantime Victarion brooded bitterly on the memories. He dare not admit it to his men. They murmured amongst one another already. Daenerys did not allow them to reave, she denied them plunder and Victarion knew dissent brewed. Euron’s absence and the presence of dragons quelled outright talk of rebellion. Victarion remained their commander but their loyalty was not as it used to be. They wanted their homes. They had been denied the true riches promised to them and they wanted home rather than the war the dragon queen offered. A war with no women and no spoils was not a true war for the Ironborn.

 

_She may not even be queen._

He heard little of Aegon Targaryen. The man, if truly Rhaegar’s son, had the stronger claim to the throne but he did not have dragons. Victarion knew how he would treat with such a man. He would kill him before he might assume the throne. Fire and Blood were the Targaryen words. He doubted Daenerys would take the same approach.

 

_This Aegon must provoke her._

The silver queen became fearsome when provoked. All rivals fell if she felt they were unjust. Victarion learned this when he first met her. Mistakes had been made and it forced him to bide his time. All it would take for her to turn on this other Targaryen would be signs that he was not good to her people. If he were to turn out not to be a true dragon... Victarion heard tales of Viserys Targaryen. Daenerys own brother was not safe when he wronged her.

 

_If my rivals fall away I might still have my prize._

Daenerys had not truly rejected him. She told him she would not marry again yet. She wanted to reclaim Westeros. After she secured the throne she might marry but not before. If there were no rival, he still might be king. He might still rule and bring back the Old way as he originally intended. If he took her to wife, the dragons would be his.

 

_Euron will still die screaming._

Those thoughts consoled him as they exited the Redwyne Straights and approached Whispering Sound. The ships at the head of the fleet, those Victarion sent ahead as lookouts returned to report that Oldtown was under the control of the Ironborn. Around the same time ships which had sailed around the Arbor rather than through the Straights reported that it too was under Ironborn rule.

 

Daenerys and her advisers boarded the Iron Victory to hear his reports. Victarion was pleased to see the Imp did not join them.

 

“Euron said he wanted Westeros,” Victarion grumbled. “He did not wait while I was gone.”

 

Daenerys gave him a steely look. “He does not  _have_  Westeros. Your brother has no right to the Seven Kingdoms, the throne was my fathers and it belongs to my family. Your people must relinquish their claim on these lands.”

 

Her advisors nodded their agreement. Archmaester Marwyn stood apart as the only one not to look satisfied.

 

“What are your plans for the Citadel?”

 

The silver queen looked in the direction of Oldtown with the same expression she had in Volantis before fire rained down.

 

“They would kill me and they wish my children, my  _dragons_  dead.”

 

Marwyn spat. “The grey sheep will be pissing themselves at the sight of them so close now.”

 

Victarion eyed that archmaester distrustfully. The man wore the chain of the Seven yet he spoke of those in his order with disrespect. A man like that could not be trusted. He knew Daenerys kept him at arms length even though she did listen to him. The young woman turned her attention back to Victarion.

 

“You are the Captain of the Ironborn fleet. I ask you to speak with your people. If they submit to my rule they will not be harmed.”

 

Victarion seethed. This  _woman_  dictated terms to  _him_. She was responsible for his men’s unhappiness. The Ironborn served under no greenlands master. He wanted to tell her this but as he opened his mouth the black dragon screamed and flew overhead. The shadow it cast darkened not only the Iron Victory but the waters around them. He nodded stiffly instead and flexed the fingers of his burned arm.

 

_The time of the Ironborn will come._

Daenerys and her advisors left the ship. He watched them go thinking to himself that there was a time he would have killed almost every one for their disrespect. They were enemies. His word was iron, his men knew it and these people made a liar of him. He remembered Asha’s words at the Kingsmoot. She urged them to have peace with the greenlands, not war. They were fool words but Victarion sometimes doubted now. Those doubts however did not last. He would finish Balon’s work as he told his men at the Kingsmoot.

 

The men in Oldtown received him well enough.  _Iron Victory_  and the Iron Fleet were known to every man from the Iron Islands. A cheer went up as the ship docked. Victarion knew the sight of the fleet impressed. The ships lost in the voyage to Meereen had been replaced by an even greater number. Volantene galleys made up many new additions.

 

The cheers gave way to confusion as his other companions disembarked. Victarion glowered at the eunuchs but they did not react. They had orders from their queen and nothing short of death would deter them from accompanying him. Shadows crisscrossed from movement overhead and when Victarion looked up, the white and green dragons were wheeling back and forth in the sky. That was good.

 

“I have returned from far in the East, as far as Meereen with dragons and the Targaryen queen,” he proclaimed.

 

They cheered again though not as loudly as they had at his arrival. He heard mention of the Crow’s Eye and his moment of pride soured. His brother would take the credit for this success too. He gave the order to seek the dragons, he made the ironborn his and Victarion’s successful return would be attributed to Euron’s plan.

 

One of the men stepped forward. “What riches do you bring from the East?”

 

Victarion did not answer immediately. Tolos and Volantis were both sacked. Meereen was plundered less due to the damage inflicted but still plundered. The ironborn claimed little from it. All spoils belonged to Daenerys and she gave sparingly. Women were not to be taken by his men, even those who were spoils of war. The Old way was punished under her watch and Victarion struggled to hold his tongue.

 

“These women should feel honoured,” he had told her.

 

“I was one of those women,” she responded. “I will not suffer any woman to be enslaved as I was. It is no honour.”

 

He tried to argue that they were not slaves and that he abhorred slavery too but Daenerys did not want to hear about the Old way. She looked upon it as unjust and savage, she who had lived amongst the Dothraki. If he wanted to remain her ally, to hope to take the Seastone Chair and more he must hold his tongue and bide his time. He instructed his men to leave the women and accepted the punishment for disobedience in anger but in silence.

 

Away from the silver queen and her advisers he counselled his men. “The Old way will return. You will see once we return to Westeros.” They nodded amongst themselves but he saw their doubts. “My word is iron.” he told them. It had been before Meereen and it would be again.

 

Victarion tried to think now as these men who had not seen him in years, who followed Euron and offered allegiance only to the Crows Eye, looked upon him expectantly. He did not have Euron’s skill with words. He still remembered that from the Kingsmoot but he must needs tell them something.

 

“Dragons are worth more than any riches,” he told them. “With dragons we can finish Balon’s work. The silver queen will claim Westeros, we will end the Lions and the Roses.”

 

They looked at one another and agreed with him before asking him to drink with them. The eunuchs stayed outside and Victarion drank deeply from the good wine on offer.

 

“Did the Roses give you much fight?” he asked. It surprised him that they held the Arbor let alone Oldtown. The men looked at one another again.

 

“They had another foe to contend with,” one man offered. “The Tyrells were busy opposing the Targaryen prince. He has won every battle and almost all of Westeros has flocked to his side. He marches on Kings Landing as we speak.”

 

Victarion thought on it. Daenerys wanted to claim Westeros but she spoke with hope of family too. If she knew of a battle at Kings Landing she might rush to intercept but chances were higher that she might aid this prince. If he took the crown rivalry was more certain. Victarion’s hatred of Euron certainly grew with his brother having the driftwood crown. Daenerys did not take commands well.

 

“What of Casterly Rock?” Victarion asked.

 

“It holds for the Lannisters,” was the reply.

 

“You must meet Daenerys,” he decided. “Tell her nothing of this. She wishes to conquer and we must show her that the Ironborn are her friends. This prince is another foe for her to defeat.”

 

They agreed enthusiastically enough. Victarion wondered how Benerro had not seen the Targaryen prince taking Westeros in his flames.  _Unless he has and he does not tell her everything_. The high priest spoke of a different war, a war against the Great Other but Daenerys dwelled on the Seven Kingdoms, those taken from her father.

 

“He will not fall easily,” one of the men said as he refilled Victarion’s goblet. “He has the wolves on his side. There is word that the Stark Queen is a sorceress.”

 

Victarion clenched the goblet in his hand. The Starks had fought against the Greyjoys, they were a rival he thought to see no more of. They learned that the North were allies, the Northern girl having made an alliance. A crown was not part of that news.

 

“We have our own sorcerors and we have dragons,” he said grimly. “The prince married her?”

 

That would be good news. Daenerys spoke of the Starks as bitterly as she did of the Lannisters. This news would cement the rivalry.

 

“No,” came the reply and laughter echoed through the room. “The North crowned her though there are rumours he wants her to share his bed. She cast some spell on him. He does her bidding.”

 

Victarion brushed aside the laughter though he did not like it. He did like what he heard. Daenerys would not like it. That was good. The men followed him out to the docks, looking upon the dragons. Euron had given them instructions they told him. They were to welcome his Targaryen bride to be as their future queen. Victarion smiled grimly.

 

_She will never be Euron’s queen._

 

Daenerys came ashore in all her beauty, her black beast landing behind her. His wings made a clamour of noise and smoke rose from his nostrils. The Ironborn stood back until she beckoned to them.

 

“If you submit to my claim Drogon will do you no harm.”

 

The men shot a look at Victarion before kneeling before her. He stayed close by her side, seeing her rage as she learned of the Northern crown and feeling that the gods were on his side when no word of the impending attack on Kings Landing reached her ears. It helped that the Imp remained on the ship, plotting with sellswords how to implement the attack on Casterly Rock.

 

They did not linger in Oldtown. Daenerys sent some of her own men ashore in equal numbers to the Ironborn.

 

“You will keep those in the Citadel contained,” she told them. “When we take Casterly Rock a raven will be sent. Find out what you can of their plans. If you hear of any harm planned against me you will kill the plotters as a message to the others. I do not wish to kill them all and suffer the wrath of the Seven.”

 

_Somebody has tempered her original plan. This one is weaker._

 

Victarion temporarily brushed aside his thoughts of how soft she was and gave the order to sail on to Casterly Rock, sending messengers to the Arbor. He wished to speak with the men in person but no time could be lost. His own men would suffer no more delays. The Rock must fall then his eye could turn to Euron and the Targaryen prince.

 

The gods were on his side, both the Red God and the Drowned God. The Seastone Chair would be his but he would not stop there. He would have the fairest woman in the world. Delays would matter little. The prize would be his and the Seven Kingdoms with it.

 


	76. Chapter 76: Aegon

**Chapter 76: Aegon**

They camped a safe distance from the city of King’s Landing. Aegon knew the Golden Company would lead the preparations for the assault on the city. They were the most disciplined men and the most seasoned. The other commanders, both those from amongst Aegon’s bannermen and those subject to Arya had their roles too but the Golden Company would form the majority of the vanguard under the command of Lord Connington. The rams were now ready to assault the gates, the time drew ever closer.

 

He saw Lord Connington on the way to his pavilion and clenched his jaw. The conversation he overheard between Connington and Arya stayed with him. Nothing Arya said surprised him. She had been transparent in her attempts to force him to think of the future without her. She had been vocal in her disapproval about the death of the whore in Stoney Sept (Bella, he reminded himself). Connington’s words were the ones that cut deep. Aegon had always trusted him.

 

_He has been a father to me._

There was now a barrier between them. Aegon felt betrayed. He remembered what Tyrion Lannister told him so long ago aboard the Shy Maid.  _Trust no one_. Connington knew how he felt about Arya. They had little time left together and the man he trusted implicitly had taken some of it from him. She still stayed away and when he saw her riding in the column she wore one of her masks.

 

The closest he had come to her was when he ran into her handmaid the previous day. The woman became agitated when he stopped her and observed that she wore a very nice pin. She lowered her eyes and trembled like a leaf.

 

“It was a gift from Queen Arya, your grace,” she said, her voice shaking. Her hand came up to clutch the pin as though she thought he might take it.

 

“A gift from one of her suitors?” he guessed.

 

The woman became even more agitated. “Yes y-your grace. I did not ask for it. I would never.”

 

Aegon sighed and let her leave. He did not know how Arya had managed to befriend one so timid. She did that though. She had a talent for relating to different types of people. Aegon also managed it to a lesser extent though it was not doing him any good now.  _Arya won’t move past Stoney Sept._

 

He still felt torn over the death of the woman. He suspected he knew who was responsible and that was why he could not take action against them. Arya would not view it the same way. Her view of right and wrong was rigid, her quest for justice relentless. The woman, Bella, was not important, not really. Arya though...

 

_“I dread to think what you originally had planned for me.”_

A chill ran down his spine at the expression he saw on Connington’s face in the split second before Aegon’s presence was noticed. Arya didn’t even react to it but Aegon saw it. He did not exceed at her lessons but this he did see.  _Lord Connington would have seen her as an enemy._  He shuddered to think of Arya, cold and lifeless as Bella had been and blue in the face where the breath had been choked from her. Aegon had turned away from the sight, not wanting to see it when Lysono Maar called it to his notice.

 

He retreated into the warmth of his tent. Outside the snow fell much more heavily than it had been. Braziers had been lit to keep him warm and he began to shed the layers of furs. He recalled the other problem he now had to consider. The news had just reached him of a case of greyscale. Aegon did not understand it. The maester who had seen the afflicted man was gone but one of the serving girls had heard of it before he disappeared. She had only just come forward with the information. It troubled Aegon after his experience on the Rhoyne before they reached Volantis.

 

_I will find out after the battle._

 

The flap of the tent swung in and Nym joined him almost buried in her own furs. She shook the snow off and pulled her hood back.

 

“You cannot be arguing with everybody cousin, now is not the time.”

 

Aegon shot her a dark look. “You are in no position to lecture me. You enjoy stirring trouble too much.”

 

Nym smiled. “This is true and men  _are_  such weak creatures. It is so easy to set them against each other.” She saw the expression on his face. “I do not try to cause trouble for you though. I want your success.”

 

Aegon laughed a mirthless laugh. “Is it success that I have? I am winning my battles but I am losing my friends.”

 

She sighed. “You are not good company. I will leave you to sulk on your own. You best get over it. On the morrow you will need to lead.”

 

She pulled her hood back up and marched back out into the cold, making him feel guilty. She was right, it would not do. The Dornish commanders had joined their host and he needed to be seen as a leader, not a petulant boy. He removed his sword belt and sat on his bed, leaning down to take off his boots.

 

His emotions were a mixture and although he carried anger with him and despair too, there was also a sense of excitement and anticipation with the battle being so close. On the morrow he might see the city his ancestors built, he would look upon the Great Sept and the Red Keep. It had been a relief to escape Ser Bonifer and his preaching but he also knew the Warriors Sons and Poor Fellows awaited him in the city. A raven from Varys told him that conditions in Kings Landing were as dire as Sandor Clegane had reported.

 

He knew he needed rest but sleep was unlikely to come while he pondered on something he had wished for so long.

 

_I will recover the pride of my House._

 

He lay with his arms behind his head just thinking. With the excitement was also nervousness.  _I will lose men tomorrow_. He was still thinking of it with his eyes closed when he heard the flap of the tent swing in again. His eyes snapped open as his visitor pulled the hood back on their furs.

 

“What are you doing here Arya?”

 

She moved quickly, shedding her outer fur cloak and shaking out her braided hair. “I have heard your arguments,” she said quietly. “I know you have doubts. I want you to tell me what you have decided.”

 

He felt a surge of irritation.  _She still hasn’t let it go. She still thinks I am some monster_. He had woken abruptly more than once in the last few nights thinking somebody was in his tent. He even looked for her but nobody was there. She had not been near him.

 

“I do not want to quarrel with you again. Especially not with the fight so close now.”

 

Arya did not appear deterred. She approached him, her grey eyes clear and determined and he started a little when she sat on his bed rather than fetching a stool. She fidgeted a moment before settling beside him but facing him.

 

“I do not wish to quarrel either. I need to know you are the man I thought you were. I have never been so mistaken before.”

 

Aegon suppressed the retort on the tip of his tongue. He remembered how she used to be with him before he wore down her barriers. She trusted no man when they met.  _She gave me her maidenhead._  The disappointment in her eyes after Stoney Sept still stung, it stung even more than her comparing him to Robert Baratheon.

 

“You expect too much,” he said stiffly. “No man would measure up. What do you want?”

 

A scowl darkened her features briefly. “I want to know that you have honour. That you will do what is right. My father had honour, my brother too.”

 

He tensed at the comparison. Somehow he was always in the shadow of noble, honourable Eddard Stark. He heard the way the Northmen spoke of their fallen liege. Aegon understood now that Ned Stark acted for his family in the Rebellion. The man was known to take no joy in killing. Arya idolised her dead father. Aegon was always going to fall short and if it wasn’t Ned Stark he could not measure up to it was his own father, Rhaegar.  _The last dragon._

 

“You stopped shaving,” she observed, catching him off guard.

 

“I did not expect you in my bed,” he replied. “There seemed no reason.”

 

Arya blinked. “You shave for me?”

 

Aegon couldn’t repress a smile. She knew so much yet she remained clueless about such simple things. “You said I scratch you.”

 

Her expression softened. “You do but I did not think... It is common for men to grow whiskers.” she said quietly. “My father wore a beard.”

 

Aegon sighed at the mention. “Tell me what you want.”

 

She reached out hesitantly, taking his hand in hers. Her thumb caressed him lightly and he looked down, frowning a little as he accepted the gesture. He kept his eyes on their joined hands, his half Dornish colouring making a contrast against her light skin. Her deep breath prompted him to raise his head to look at her.

 

“I want you to promise me something.”

 

The way she moved was just suggestive enough for him to figure out how she might reward him for his promise. He did not know if the manipulation was intentional. Her expression was serious even though she remained positioned so close to him that he could almost feel her breath. Her other hand skimmed close to the hem of his tunic. Aegon did not want to be manipulated.

 

 _If only my cock would listen._  

 

Their time apart had been difficult. He had tried taking matters into his own hands, imagining her when she wasn’t there but nothing compared to the real thing. Arya looked at him steadily and did not resist when he pushed stray hair back behind her ear. She did push his hand away when he let it trail lower in an attempt to touch her.

 

“Arya,” he complained. Her hand was still by his knee. “Stop teasing me and tell me what you want.”

 

She jerked her hand away and flushed. “I did not mean to. I would not do that to you.” She looked strained and pulled her hand from his. Aegon cursed. It was all going wrong, just as it had every time he saw her after Stoney Sept. She began to rise and as much as it pained him he let go of his pride.

 

“Don’t leave,” he blurted. “Stay and tell me what you came to ask.”

 

Arya hesitated but he refused to plead with her. He might not want her to leave but he still had some pride. Her expression softened again and she settled back into her former position. “You frightened me. I don’t ever want to hear that your men executed somebody without question for their blood alone. I know you have had talks with your men. Don’t let it happen again. Promise me.”

 

He watched her for a moment, thinking again of his suspicions about Stoney Sept. The promise would cost him little.  _She speaks of the future, not the past._ “I did not mean to frighten you.” He hesitated before giving his answer and her finger went to his lips. She licked her own lips and he cursed himself for the thoughts that simple gesture conjured in his mind.

 

“I didn’t kill her,” he repeated again. “I’m not a bad man Arya. You know that.” She remained silent and took her finger back. “I will tell them to bring suspected enemies to me first in future so that they may be questioned. It is something we have already begun speaking of. If there is no harm in them they will be spared.”

 

Arya nodded. “You will tell your men? You will make it a command?”

 

She was looking at him so intently, so hopefully. “I promise,” he replied and he meant it.

 

“What about Bella,” she pressed. “I need to know who killed her.”

 

Aegon sighed. He knew he should have expected it. She was not one to let things go. “I do not know,” he admitted, refusing to confess his suspicions and hoping likely in vain she could not tell. “Can it wait just until the fighting is finished?” She chewed her lip and he rushed to clarify. “I’m not saying to let it drop. I know you won’t do that. Just wait until after the city falls. We can decide what to do then.”

 

She remained silent for a moment and Aegon thought she might argue with him. Finally she nodded.

 

“I should let you rest.”

 

He watched her go with a sinking feeling. When he was alone he resigned himself to another night of relieving his frustrations on his own. It did not stop him stewing though. He did not understand what more she expected from him. It seemed she would never fully forgive him and he was certain he did not deserve that.

 

Sometime later a rustle at the entrance the tent disturbed him. He remained awake but his mood almost caused him to snap before he realised Arya had returned. She began removing items from her person and shedding her layers of furs. He heard her whisper “Valar Morghulis” before she approached him, looking a little uncertain this time. He did not know what to think, especially when she tugged her boots off, knelt on the bed and crawled towards him. He sat upright.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice cracking.

 

Arya faltered and stopped, shifting her position to sit much as she had in her previous visit. She looked at her hands and Aegon waited for her to tell him something. He did not know what to expect but her uncertainty gave him some sign. When he reached for her hand she smiled very briefly. She looked into his face when he raised the hand to his lips. He kissed her palm and she sighed.

 

“I wondered whether you would find another to warm your bed,” she said hesitantly. “I know the other men have women in the lead up to battle.”

 

Aegon was ashamed to admit the thought had crossed his mind. He dismissed it quickly feeling certain that any he chose would be a poor substitute. He did not want a whore. He wanted a woman who  _wanted_  him, who was only  _his_. He wanted Arya who knew him and knew what he needed before he even knew himself. Pinkmaiden had ruined him, even if he had already loved her previously. He only had to remember nights spent learning each other’s bodies, nights where they did things to one another that gave more pleasure than Aegon ever thought possible and he knew a whore would not satisfy him, even if she let him fuck her all night.

 

He opened his mouth to say as much, mayhaps less bluntly than that, but his words were cut off when Arya’s hand went to his breeches. His grunt was cut off when she pressed her mouth to his as she traced the outline of his stiffening cock.

 

“You waited for me,” she whispered as her lips travelled down his neck. “I did not want to be alone, not tonight.” Her breath felt warm against his ear and her hair brushing his shoulder made him realise she had removed her braids. “It is not the same having Cara or Nym in my bed.”

 

He struggled to concentrate on her voice as she kissed his jaw and slid her hand across his stomach. “You have been abed with Nym,” he asked curiously, wondering if he should be jealous. Arya paused and he wondered if he should have held his tongue.

 

“You know about her,” she said calmly.

 

Aegon brushed her hair aside. “She makes no secret of it to me. So have you?” He shot her a smile as he saw her scowl.

 

“No stupid,” she retorted “She has just been nagging me to see you.” She tilted her head to the side to let him kiss her neck and he began to work her tunic up. “Would it bother you if I did?”

 

He watched her lift the tunic the rest of the way off. “Not as long as you like having me better,” he said lightly. He lied and he was sure she knew it. He captured her lips and ran his fingers over the newly exposed skin. When he moved to kiss her throat he heard her breath catch. Her breathing quickened as his thumb brushed her nipple finding it already hard. He felt her heart beat under his hand when he squeezed her breast.

 

“Nym annoys me even more than you do,” she murmured. “You do not need to worry.”

 

“I’m not worried,” he shot back. She leaned back as he nuzzled between her breasts and her breathing became laboured when he kissed them. “I missed you,” he muttered against her skin as he felt her fingers in his hair. He heard her swallow loudly and as she cradled his head, holding him close he looked to see her eyes were closed. Her fingers stroked the back of his neck and she bit her lip.

 

Arya must have sensed the lapse in his attentions because she moved and took his face in her hands, bringing him to her level. He saw her smile almost shyly as he drank in the sight of her again. She was just as he remembered, all toned muscle, slender but with soft curves just where they were meant to be. He ran a finger over the light marks he had left on her breasts and she trembled. She let go of him and began unlacing her breeches.

 

“You make me feel beautiful,” she said in a timid voice.

 

Aegon sighed as he began removing his own clothing. He wanted to hurt every person who had made her feel unworthy. Her fingers began tracing his scars and she placed gentle kisses on each one.

 

“You  _are_  beautiful Arya.” He trailed his fingers down her bare back.

 

She looked up at him as her lips brushed against a scar on his chest, her eyes bright as his hands gripped her waist. She straightened up, locking her arms around his neck and kissing the end of his nose. “I am going to let you fuck me even if you don’t say it.”

 

He kissed her, putting all of his need for her into it. She moaned into his mouth as his hand brushed over the hair at the juncture of her thighs. He felt her tilt her hips, betraying her need to him. He had been so lonely without her, even more so once he became distant from Lord Connington. He brushed the tips of his fingers close to her centre, feeling the moisture already gathering and Arya whimpered and lay back on his bed.

 

He paused to look at her. She had opened her thighs to him and he caressed her lightly, his fingers brushing along her slit. “So beautiful,” he murmured and he kissed the inside of one leg, relishing her shaky breath. He glanced at her, seeing her watching him before moving to flick his tongue to catch the moisture his fingers had missed. Arya gave a sharp little cry and Aegon gripped her hips tightly.

 

“I just want to taste you,” he murmured as her fingers threaded through his hair. “You know you make it harder when you squirm.” He kissed her again, just  _there_  and although she didn’t make a sound he felt her shudder. Her fingers caressed him, alternating between softly brushing against his scalp and tugging his hair to bring him closer each time his attentions to her lapsed. Each flick of his tongue earned him more as she writhed in his grasp, saying just enough to hint at praise.

 

He paused to look up at her, using his fingers to please her instead.

 

“Tell me you missed me. Tell me you thought of me when you didn’t have me in your bed.”

 

She didn’t answer him, instead arching her back and gasping. She whined as he removed his fingers.

 

“Tell me,” he said again as he bent between her thighs to sweep his tongue against her again. Her reaction was gratifying.

 

“I  _missed_  you,” she moaned and he felt a thrill of triumph as she tugged him close again. “Ser Raymun tried to tell me,” she gasped. “He tried... to say... he could please... me and I-I laughed at him.”

 

Aegon was so hard it hurt. Her confirming that it was only him she wanted was almost more than he could take. He wanted to be buried inside her. He wanted to hear her say again that she wanted him. When she peaked, crying his name it was all he could do to give her a moment as he climbed back over her. She covered his face in kisses and he groaned as he thrust into her.

 

Nothing compared to the heat of her encasing him while she kissed him and touched him and angled her hips to meet his every stroke. “It has been too long,” He told her as he felt her clench around his cock. Her legs wrapped high around his back, bringing him deeper and she shushed him. His strokes were shallow as he tried to hang on and her hand went to his buttocks, urging him not to hold back. “I want you,” she whispered. “I want all of you Aegon.”

 

He gave up the effort, instead taking her as she clearly wished to be taken. He needed it too, hearing her throaty cries as he fucked her. Her nails scraped his back and the feeling was electric. He leaned close to her, feeling her body against his with each movement and latched onto the pulse point in her neck, marking her again with his kiss.

 

He held on longer than he expected but not nearly as long as he would have liked. He slowed to try to prolong his pleasure before slumping over her as he spilled his seed. He murmured her name, Arya,  _his_  Arya. She might not say it, she might leave him and live half a world away but he knew she was his in that moment.

 

She made soothing noises as she remained wrapped around him. He looked into her eyes and she brushed her lips against his tenderly as he basked in the precious moments of bliss that came with still being inside her. After weeks of frustration he felt happy and sated and he didn’t want it to end. Arya knew and she whispered into his ear. “We have a little time.”

 

Aegon wanted more than a little time.

“I want something from you in exchange for my promise,” he said as he caught his breath, preparing himself for argument. She remained still but her eyes narrowed. “Stay with me tonight.”

Arya looked at him steadily. He thought she might refuse but finally she nodded. “I will stay if you keep me warm.”

 

Aegon couldn’t help but smile as she shifted and he lay down with her pressed close to him. He reached and pulled the furs over them as she shivered a little. He had needed her. Nobody knew what would happen on the morrow and this, having her against him and being with her took his mind off all the uncertainties and all the risks.

 

 _Valar Morghulis_. The words she uttered before she came to his bed suddenly made sense.  _She knows the risks too._

 

He brushed his lips against her shoulder. Arya responded by moving to rest her head against his chest and he put his arms around her. Her voice trembled a little as she spoke. “Rickon is still angry with me and Jon wants me to stay away.”

 

Aegon frowned remembering the letters. She had covered her emotions so well but he knew something was wrong when he saw her burn the first and reread the second. Her fingers had gripped the parchment so tightly.

 

“I am sorry my love.”

 

She was so bothered by her news she didn’t even offer her usual argument to the endearment. Instead she clung to him.

 

“I should have been with you in Harrenhal,” he whispered as he stroked her back. “I should have told Ser Bonifer to take his preaching elsewhere. The gods cannot frown on this, on us.” 

 

She shook her head and looked up at him with a frown. “You couldn’t. We are taking enough of a risk now but I do hate that place. If not for Nymeria...”

 

Aegon stifled a curse. He wanted to say he did not care about the risk, that he did not care about his aunt, that he was tired of secrets, of people laughing at him for wanting Arya. He wanted all of them to know that she wanted him inside her, that she told him her secret thoughts and that he gave as much counsel as he took from her.

 

Instead he swallowed the resentment and held his tongue, knowing she might leave if he said it, promise or no promise. It was a foolish wish, even if he did have hopes of things changing once they won the battle. He made himself think of Nymeria instead. He knew which Nymeria she meant. The wolves never strayed far. The men heard them at night and Aegon expected to have her growling in his bed. He accepted that part of her. The new men feared it but they did not understand.

 

_Arya is the direwolf._

“Make peace with Connington in the morning,” she murmured.

 

Aegon stiffened. “I cannot.”

 

“Make peace,” she said firmly. “You do not have to forget but you need him. You need his knowledge and his counsel even if you should not always listen to him.”

 

They lapsed into silence and sleep soon overtook him. It was a rare dreamless sleep devoid of dragons. He drifted in and out of consciousness as Arya moved restlessly. At one point when he woke he accidentally disturbed her. Arya kissed him sleepily and woke quickly with a laugh at his eager response.

 

“Your wriggling is torture,” he whispered between kisses.

 

“You asked me to stay,” she shot back.

 

It took little encouragement and her hands were roaming. He did not bother to quiet her, just as he had not stifled her earlier.  _In this snow and with the battle looming nobody will think anything._  She remained intertwined with him a little while afterwards, her eyes closed and her head resting at his shoulder. He almost thought she slept until she spoke.

 

“Don’t be reckless on the morrow Aegon. You cannot be crowned if you die.”

 

He responded the way she always did. “Valar Morghulis.”

 

Arya didn’t take it well. She hit him and for half a second he thought she might cry. “I mean it.”

 

He tried to soothe her with a caress. “I’ll be careful if you are.”

 

She nodded and moved further into his embrace with a sigh. He supposed it was the closest to a declaration of love that he would get.

 

”You need to sleep Aegon,” she murmured. “There is a lot to do.”

 

He did sleep. He woke once more before dawn to Arya stirring and saw Nym in the tent. She gave them a wicked grin before leaving. He was surprised when dawn came and Arya remained curled into him. She yawned as he kissed her temple. At some point in the night she had pulled her tunic back on. He enticed her into a proper kiss, sliding his hand inside the tunic. She let him touch her before breaking the kiss.

 

“We don’t have time for more of that.”

 

Aegon knew she was right. His advisors would arrive soon. He watched her retrieve the rest of her clothes and begin pulling them on before following suit. She finished dressing before he did but she lingered, making what looked to be a pointless effort to tidy her hair.

 

“I’ll leave after I’ve helped you with your armour.”

 

Her fingers were deft and practised when he agreed. “You have done this before,” he observed.

 

She nodded, looking pleased. “I help my uncle sometimes. He doesn’t need help but he knows I like to make sure that he is...” She trailed off and began focusing intently on securing his breastplate. “I will go to him when I leave here.” She pulled a face. “Do you know that two men already asked me for my favour? I had to tell them not to be stupid.”

 

Aegon frowned. “It isn’t a tourney.”

 

Arya snorted. “That is what I said.” She looked up at him. “I think you are almost done. Please wear a helm.”

 

“I will,” he assured her. “If it wasn’t war, would you give  _me_  your favour?”

 

Arya grinned. “Don’t be stupid. You wouldn’t  _need_  my favour.” Her smile dropped and the lighthearted moment passed. “Be safe Aegon,” she whispered and her worry showed.

 

He pulled her to him and she flung her arms awkwardly around his neck.  _The war is upon us._  Part of him wished he could have some token. He would pray to the Warrior more than once before the day was over, he was sure. Numbers were certainly on their side but the gods sometimes had other intentions.

 


	77. Chapter 77: Davos

**Chapter 77: Davos**

 

Davos Seaworth misliked the Nightfort. It was an ill-omened place, it was old and dark and still in ill-repair even after all the work the builders had put into it. The look of the place was not what truly bothered Davos though, it was the  _feel_  of the place. It felt cursed and he tried to tell himself he only thought so because of the tales he had heard. It did not matter. Doubts still gnawed at him.

 

At night they heard the rats but of all the things to move in the night the rats posed the least harm. They had learned of the story of the Night’s King. Davos had not dwelled on it and Stannis had even less patience for what he termed myths. They had soon learned that myth and truth were not so far apart as once thought. The attack by dead men proved that.

 

Up until the attack, Stannis had been despondent. He brooded on the many slights he suffered and refused to admit men to his presence, even Davos. The rejection by the Northern lords and Arya Stark rankled and made him more bitter. Melisandre’s abandonment of him was salt in the wound. He shut himself away in the Nightfort, spending his time reading, fixating on the mystery of the Black Gate and admitting Shireen to his presence.

 

The attack changed everything. They received a raven in advance to warn them. Duty spurred Stannis into action. All the preparation in the world could not dull the shock of seeing a dead man, a corpse, walking. Stannis remained methodical in command, barking orders as men froze or ran in fear. Only three men were lost but they learned. Davos himself was one to set a corpse aflame and see it fall lifeless once more.

 

It took time to adjust to the experience and for things to settle down to a routine again. Strict procedures were put in place to be even better prepared the next time. Stannis called on him afterwards. He looked as drawn and haggard as ever, he had become thin and the shadows around his eyes made them look almost sunken. The sight was one Davos had grown accustomed to but now there was a brightness in his eyes that had been lacking for some time.

 

“I have a duty Davos. That has not changed.”

 

Davos felt his hopes rise. “Tell me what you would have of me. I remain your loyal man.”

 

Stannis ground his teeth. “I am not a fool Davos, I know what they say of me. They think I was led by the red woman, that I believed I was the subject of the prophecy.” He unsheathed his sword, the supposed Lightbringer. “I told you once before that I do not believe in gods. My claim is just, it is right but they will not accept that. I needed her power.”

 

“Power is not wisdom your grace.”

 

Stannis snorted. “Melisandre certainly proved that.” He inspected the sword before sheathing it again. “Selyse remains dedicated to R’hllor. She would have me find another priest or priestess to aid my cause.”

 

The thought might have troubled him more if Stannis had not looked so repulsed by the idea. “What will you do Your Grace?”

 

“I would be the fool the men say I am if I listened. My claim remains sound. Robert defeated the Targaryens and I am his heir but I cannot pursue the throne. The Targaryen might take it but he is not worthy of it. You gave me good counsel once. A king must protect his people. My place is here. The war is here.”

 

Davos might mislike the Nightfort but he could not disagree. He wished for home and for his wife but the red woman told one thing true. The cold winds were rising and with the cold came the Others.

 

“Your Grace.” Davos stepped forward. “What you say is true but the Wall is still undermanned.” The defection of the Northmen had been costly. Stannis’ supporters had continued to dwindle in numbers.

 

Stannis made a fist. “The Iron Bank offered their support then withdrew it just as quickly. The sellswords might have made a difference.”

 

Davos shook his head. “Men who fight for gold are not loyal. There is another who is more likely to hear your plea. The Lord Commander will not take the action required. His oath should have it make no difference but he will resist nonetheless.”

 

Stannis ground his teeth again. “Speak your mind Davos. Who do you mean?”

 

Davos took a deep breath. “Arya Stark.”

 

The King’s face darkened. “That child woman spat on me. She is rumoured to dabble in sorcery.”

 

Davos had heard the newest rumours. He forged on. “You said you needed power. What do rumours of sorcery matter?”

 

Stannis did not look appeased. “The North used me to divest them of Boltons then turned their backs on me the moment a more likeable option presented itself. That girl will not heed me.”

 

The Arya Stark Davos had seen was one who put duty first, he was sure of that. She was not unlike Stannis in that but unfortunately they were both stubborn and proud. He remembered the boy, Lord Rickon. Both Starks cared deeply about the North. It was Northern pride and a hunger for Northern justice which drew their men south.

 

“She is of the North,” Davos pointed out. “The Starks are raised to respect the Night’s Watch. Her men will follow her command and she has sway over the Targaryen prince. The Northmen will not remain in the South when their homes are at risk.”

 

Stannis snorted again. “I can imagine what type of sway she has. I cannot see her as an ally. She is no queen and her brother is no king. I will not suffer another pretender.”

 

“What of the cost Your Grace? When the dead men overpower us the pretenders will be all who remain.”

 

Stannis gave him a withering look and the silence lingered. “Leave me Davos.”

 

Davos sighed but he knew that look. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

 

***

By the next morning Stannis was still grinding his teeth but he had clearly thought on Davos’ counsel. When Davos joined him he was giving orders. He turned his attention to Davos.

 

“We must go to Castle Black. I must see the Lord Commander.”

 

Preparations were already underway and they were ready to leave by the next day. When Davos stopped to collect Devan who remained Stannis’ squire, Shireen looked forlorn. Davos felt for the girl. The Nightfort was not a welcoming place, it was not a home and certainly not suited for a princess.

 

“We should not be gone long princess,” he assured her.

 

Shireen nodded and offered a smile. The fool, Patchface, twitched and shuffled.

 

“Under the sea the dead fish float, up here the fish will gloat. I know, I know oh oh oh.”

 

Davos was unsettled. He saw that Shireen looked troubled too.

 

“He keeps saying that,” she explained.

 

Davos made himself smile. “Your father will make certain you are kept safe. The Nightfort is well prepared in case of another attack.”

 

Shireen took his hand. “I know my Lord. Father has been most unhappy. Will the Lady Melisandre return?”

 

She was stronger than she looked. Davos shook his head at the thought of Shireen reassuring  _him_. She truly was a sweet child.  _She is a fine heir for Stannis_. He watched Devan bid Shireen a warm farewell and they set off to join the party bound for Castle Black.

 

The journey between the castles only took a few days. The weather was terrible and they dare not travel North of the Wall where the dead things roamed. A raven preceded their arrival and a steward met them in the yard. Stannis shrugged off the offer of refreshment, moving towards the King’s Tower.

 

“Tell your Lord Commander I require his presence.”

 

The steward faltered. “S-sire, the Lady Melisandre requested-“

 

Stannis cut him off. “You have my instructions.”

 

The steward nodded and they were shown through to the King’s Tower. Stannis stopped still just as they reached the steps and Davos stopped with him to see what had caught his gaze. A young black brother was passing, a damaged breastplate tucked under his arm. Davos could not contain his shock and he heard one of the black brothers assisting them snigger.

 

For a brief moment the close resemblance had him thinking it was Edric Storm. Then the man stopped and took a knee. He had the same black hair and Baratheon blue eyes but not the Florent ears. Those blue eyes contained the same suspicion as Stannis, the jaw clenched in a similar way. He looked as though he smiled just as infrequently.

 

“I know you,” Stannis remarked. Silence lingered for what seemed like an eternity.

 

The man remained on his knee. “I am Ser Gendry, Your Grace.”

 

Stannis finally allowed Ser Gendry to rise.  _He is one of Robert’s bastards._  Davos looked at Stannis and saw his unhappiness.  _He does not like the reminder._  It only took him a moment longer to think of the red woman. He was immediately ill at ease. The young man was looking at Stannis with what looked like resentment. In fact, the two men wore almost identical expressions.

 

“Do you know who your father was?” Davos asked.

 

Ser Gendry pushed his shaggy black hair out of his eyes and gave Davos a look of reproach. “I have no father,” he said stiffly. “I only have brothers.”

  
It was the Night’s Watch line but Davos saw through it by his expression and the way he glanced at Stannis.  _He knows he is Robert’s bastard_. Ser Gendry began to look impatient.

 

“The Lord Commander needs me to get back to the armory. Do I have your leave, Your Grace?”

 

Stannis grunted out his assent and Ser Gendry strode away. Davos watched him leave and saw the young man look back at them. When he turned back to Stannis he saw that Stannis had proceeded up the steps into the King’s Tower. He followed and once they entered the quarters where Stannis would reside, he waited for them to be left alone.

 

“The armourer is one of Robert’s bastards.”

 

Stannis looked at him sharply. “You do not need me to confirm it Davos. Your eyes are as good as mine. I saw him in Kings Landing with Jon Arryn.”

 

 _So he is the one._  Davos knew the tale. If the red woman left him untouched, he might be the key to proving Stannis’ claim. The presence of the Targaryens however complicated things. Davos knew they would care little. Daenerys was on her way with dragons and Aegon had the support of the majority of the High lords. Neither would have much regard for the legitimacy of Stannis’ claim as Robert’s heir.

 

“You should meet with him,” Davos urged. He saw Stannis begin to grind his teeth. “You are in need of an armourer’s services” he reminded him. The response was a grudging nod.

 

Davos went to his own quarters briefly before returning to Stannis in time for his meeting with Jon Snow. Melisandre was with the Lord Commander though Snow did not look happy about it. He took a knee before Stannis and Davos noted Melisandre’s expression of disapproval. Stannis bade him rise and Snow took a seat.

 

“What do you intend to do with Ser Gendry,” Davos blurted, ignoring Stannis’ annoyance.

 

The Lord Commander looked almost amused. “He is an armourer. I put him in the armoury so that the Night’s watch might have use of his skill.”

 

Stannis interjected. “Do not play the fool. You know what he is.”

 

Jon Snow’s expression gave nothing away. “He is our armourer Sire.”

 

Melisandre spoke up. “He is much more than that. You all know this. Through his father-“

 

Snow became stony faced. “That is enough my lady. The blood of the father means little and none to me. He is a black brother. His blood is no matter to the Night’s Watch.”

 

Davos watched the two of them.  _He means more than what he says_. Uncertainty flickered on Melisandre’s heart shaped face but she fell silent. Davos glanced at Stannis. He was looking at the red woman with unconcealed bitterness, no doubt brooding on the wrongs she had committed.

 

“What are you doing here Melisandre?”

 

Her red eyes fixed on Stannis. “I wish to make amends. We are all servants fighting against one true enemy, the Great Other. I misinterpreted the signs, that is true but we are still on the same side.”

 

Stannis did not look at all placated. Davos tried to turn his focus away from the grudge. “My Lord,” he said to Jon Snow. “His Grace requested your presence for a reason. There are matters of importance we must discuss.”

 

“Your sister,” Stannis ground out. “You must send for her. You are aware the Wall is undermanned.”

 

Snow paled and although he did not say a word Davos read his resistance.

 

“He cannot,” Melisandre said smoothly. “The time will come but it is not yet here. I have seen her. She will return North without our asking.”

 

The Lord Commander’s mouth was an unhappy line. “This is not Arya’s place. You made me a promise.”

 

The red woman did not back down. “Promises will not matter. Your wishes will not matter. She will come. There are other more pressing matters. I have seen the dead men coming. Those who perished at sea have risen again.”

 

Stannis began to pace. “You mean those from Hardhome. This is all the more reason to contact the Stark girl.”

 

Melisandre shook her head. “It is too late for that. They are on their way. I have seen them and I have seen a sea of skulls.”

 

Davos thought for a moment. “We must return to the Nightfort.”

 

“You cannot. You must stay here.” The priestess’ red eyes almost burned into them and her robes swished as she moved across the room. “I do not wish you harm but harm  _will_  befall you if you leave.”

 

The tension in the room made it feel like a standoff. Stannis broke the silence. “Leave us.”

 

The Lord Commander left respectfully and Melisandre stayed close by his side. Davos saw her thread her arm through Snow’s as they walked. She spoke in a low tone but Davos was certain he heard mention of Azor Ahai and a dragon. Stannis interrupted his train of thought.

 

“I must find safety for Shireen.”

 

It was something Davos had considered previously. He voiced his thoughts preparing for resistance. “Mayhaps Winterfell might offer refuge.”

 

It was received about as well as he might have expected. “She will be a hostage.”

 

“She will be alive,” Davos corrected “and she will be safe. The North is independent. I do not believe they would harm her.”

 

Stannis was silent for some time then he nodded. “Send the ravens.”

 

*

 

The attack came more suddenly than anybody expected. The wights might be slow, shambling creatures but they descended in much greater numbers than ever before. Davos feared for those in the other castles along the Wall and thanked the gods that his wife remained safe. His son, Devan, was not. Davos looked for him fighting by Stannis' side.

 

Men were positioned strategically throughout Castle Black, on top of the Wall and on the stairs leading to the top of the Wall. Night fires burned and there was a steady procession lighting torches. The night air echoed with curses as men fumbled and ran. The initial order and discipline did not last long. Davos heard Stannis shouting commands from ground level at the castle. Jon Snow gave his own commands from atop the Wall. Each of them had strategic positions where they might each reach the men and try to ensure success or at least maximum survival.

 

Melisandre stood atop the Wall with the Lord Commander. Davos could not see her but he saw her sorcery. At intervals the sky lit up with flame and figures fell from the Wall. He watched little of it, intent on following the orders of his King. The men on the ground and positioned throughout the castle had bows, the arrows set aflame to combat the dead men who managed to make it over the Wall. Barrels of burning pitch fell from the Wall but that had little effect on the ground. They made do with the arrows. Davos himself wielded a torch and Stannis armed himself with Lightbringer.

 

He saw Devan with his own torch. The boy looked afraid but he stood his ground. The sentry’s horn blew at intervals and he heard the regular command being shouted to rearm.

 

“Again,” Stannis shouted and another wave of arrows fired at the shuffling shapes.

 

 _We need more valyrian steel_. The sword in Stannis’ hand flamed and cut through the men with ease, the fire being their weakness. The slightest contact with the steel did for them. It did not even require a mortal blow. Arrows were less effective. Many missed their mark. Torches required too much close contact and fumbles increased the risk but they persisted.

 

The men tired as the hours wore on. Those by Stannis’ side dwindled and Davos noted that one still standing was the armourer, Gendry. He rather reminded Davos of a young Stannis. He might have Robert’s build but his determination and body language was that of Stannis. Davos drew up alongside him and saw that Devan was no longer there.

 

“My son,” he asked, trying not to panic. “Have you seen him?”

 

Gendry answered as Stannis disposed of another foe. “He could barely stand m’lord. I sent him to the armoury.”

 

Davos felt relief rush through him. The numbers of the enemy finally dwindled. He saw the weariness on the faces of Wildlings, black brothers and soldiers alike. They hesitated to let their guard down when no dead men appeared for a time. Even once the men on the ground began to retreat back into the castle and survey the damage, those on the Wall lingered.

 

The Lord Commander looked haggard and aged when he came down. He spoke quietly with Stannis, discussing their losses. His albino direwolf stayed close by his side and Davos noted the wolf let the red woman touch it when she approached. Jon Snow turned to Gendry briefly.

 

“Tell the men to get rest while they can. Summon those who have already had respite. We must burn the dead.”

 

Ser Gendry nodded and left promptly. Davos knew he must be tired but he did not hesitate. Stannis watched him leave and Davos wondered what he was thinking. A steward brought hot soup out to them while Stannis walked with the red woman and Snow, supervising the burning. Dozens had died, many of them wildlings but given that so many wildlings resided near the Wall now Davos supposed that was to be expected.

 

“You should go to your son,” Melisandre prompted.

 

Stannis nodded and Davos did not delay. He found Devan sleeping in the armourer’s quarters. He was unharmed apart from a cut on his wrist. Ser Gendry found him there. The young man looked over Devan before glancing at Davos.

 

“I can wake him Ser,” Davos offered. “You must need your own rest.”

 

Gendry shook his head and his thick black hair fell into his eyes. “Leave him be m’lord. I have more to do before I can sleep.”

 

Davos watched him moving around the armoury, putting everything in its place and gathering new items in a very focused manner. His face was screwed up in concentration as he made his selections.

 

“You are very like him,” Davos observed.

 

Ser Gendry’s head snapped up and Davos saw the anger in his eyes. “I am nothing like him,” he spat. “He was a sot and a womaniser.”

 

“You mistake me,” Davos said quickly. “I meant you are very like Stannis.”

 

The anger seeped out of him to be replaced with a doubtful expression. “Oh,” he said. “I wouldn’t know. He seems alright.”

 

Davos fought the urge to smile. Gendry begrudged his words just like Stannis too. He excused himself. They lingered at Castle Black for some time, despite the fears held about the other castles. Recovering from the attack took a while and Stannis wished to converse with the Lord Commander at length about future preparations, allocations of men, methods of defense and sharing of resources.

 

Ravens came in from the other castles along the Wall, all reporting attacks. Castle Black bore the brunt of it. It had clearly been specifically targeted. As the days passed, nothing came from the Nightfort. The silence was chilling and while Stannis remained focused on his duties far longer than even Davos expected, as time stretched on with no word even he showed concern.

 

They gathered the supplies needed for the return trip. The Lord Commander sent some wildlings with them despite Stannis looking rather displeased. He was still talking strategy during his final exchange with Jon Snow.

 

“As difficult as the attack was sire, we have yet to face the Others,” the Lord Commander was saying. “I fear that will be our truest test and I fear for if we fail.”

 

Stannis grunted. “The Wall will hold them for now.”

 

The Lord Commander did not look appeased. For a young man, he looked worn down. The burdens of his position were clearly weighing on him. Melisandre swept forward and Davos started when he realised she spoke to him, not Stannis.

 

“Stannis is going to need you Onion knight. He will need you more than he ever has. You must keep him focused on the enemy.”

 

Davos bristled. “Stannis knows his duty and he knows I remain his man. I do not need your reminders priestess.”

 

She smiled and it almost looked sad. “You should heed me nonetheless.”

 

They set off for the Nightfort and Davos saw the armourer watch them leave. Stannis was speaking of the ravens, griping about the possibility of a reply from Winterfell and what it might contain. The weather hindered them less on their return journey and they made good time. Nothing could prepare them however for the sight which greeted them when they arrived.

 

They did not see any dead outside the castle which surprised him. At the entrance though was a head mounted on a pike. It was hard to tell how long it had been there but from the degree of decay Davos wondered if it might have been mounted not long after they left. Despite the decomposition it was still recognisable by the tattoos on the face.

 

It was Patchface.

 

Davos recalled the last words he heard from Shireen and began to hurry. Two men emerged to greet them and their faces only increased his fears. Stannis did not seem to have grasped the full ramifications. His first words were a reprimand.

 

“Why did you not send a raven?”

 

They looked at one another and did not speak straight away. “We did not know how to tell you Sire,” one finally offered.

 

Davos rushed into the castle, looking frantically. He heard the footsteps behind him. The chambers were empty as he searched. Of the men left in the Nightfort, few remained of the garrison. All had identical traumatised expressions, even the seasoned men.

 

“Where are they?” he asked. “Where is the princess?”

 

They pointed out to the yard and Davos saw Stannis striding in the direction. They both stopped still once outside. The bodies were piled high. Somebody had attempted to burn them but the task was not completed. Davos made himself look but he could not see Shireen.

 

“It was the fool,” one man said. “He lost what wits he had while everybody slept. The Princess and the Queen were the first and then...”

 

The story was told in fragments. The Nightfort came under attack by wights but Patchface had already done his worst by then. Some of the dead rose to join them. Davos watched Stannis, trying to figure out what he could say. The King’s jaw worked as he looked at the dead.

 

“Burn them,” he choked out. “Burn them all.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you google Patchface theories you will find some really disturbing stuff. It is believed there are foreshadowings that he will kill Shireen. I decided not to include the messed up details here.  
> 


	78. Chapter 78

**Chapter 78: Connington | Aegon | Arya**

**Connington**

 

Jon Connington woke with the sound of those infernal bells still ringing in his ears and the image of the whore before his eyes. Seeing her had made something snap inside him. The stupid girl was so proud that Robert had been in her mother’s bed while Jon had been looking for him. She represented everything he hated about Stoney Sept. She looked like  _him_  and even though he knew his own pride had contributed to his failure, her mother and that town had  _sheltered_  Robert. If they had not been traitors Jon would not have failed. His stiff fingers still twitched as he remembered her struggling.

 

_She should have stayed in Stoney Sept. If I had not seen her I would never have..._

 

He shook his head to try to clear his thoughts. Aegon had not asked him but Jon saw the suspicion on his face. It did not matter at the time. The other men did not care. Nobody cared about the unacknowledged bastard daughter of the usurper. Robert Baratheon and his descendants, bastards too, symbolised the enemy. Only Arya Stark made a stand over it. Aegon had been wroth about their exchange. He came to Jon, livid about the Stark girl comparing him to Robert.

 

Jon did nothing to mend the rift. He encouraged it and felt no guilt. The prince was nothing like the usurper. The comparison was ludicrous. Aegon needed to pull away from Arya. He would be King. It was so close now that Jon could see it. He could almost picture Aegon on the throne that should have been Rhaegar’s. The image was tinged with bitterness at the current situation. They had proceeded well until Harrenhal. He remembered Arya Stark confronting him. He underestimated her once again. He wished he never stopped her to tell her she must leave soon.

_She manipulated me. She knew Aegon was there._

 

The prince would not forgive what he saw as a betrayal.  _That girl is his weakness_. Every time they spoke Aegon’s tone held poorly concealed bitterness. The other men heard it. They questioned what the problem was but thankfully the prince did insist on proceeding with the attack on King’s Landing. Arya had not returned to him, Jon had seen that.

 

_It will not be much longer. He will not continue to bear the grudge once we reap the fruits of our labours. The throne is almost his._

 

Doubts still nagged at him though. Before the girl, Aegon was focused on the task. Taking back his rightful crown was the utmost priority. He still became incensed about the Lannisters. He still had that fire, that drive to root them out but he also did not care for the crown as he once did. It was important to him but it didn’t hold quite the same charm. It was no longer his only aim. He wanted the girl too.

 

Jon needed him to move past it. He did not have the time he once thought. Death no longer just crept up his arm. It had gone further than that now. It was becoming much harder to hide it and he saw by that one glance that the Stark girl knew. He worked hard putting preparations into place for the assault on the city. They needed to take it and quickly, with minimal damage.

 

_Aegon cannot take charge of a city by destroying it._

 

Harry Strickland was his same cautious self. They did not have time for caution. The Dornish plans on the other hand tended towards recklessness. Connington tread a fine line between both courses. The city  _would_  fall, that much was certain. The men were guiding the rams they fashioned closer to the city in the strategic places he chose, ready to act on his command. A buzz spread through the camp as the others readied themselves, eating, farewelling the camp followers and donning armour for battle.

 

Jon steeled himself as he strode towards Aegon’s tent. He paused before pulling the flap back and stepping inside. Aegon didn’t notice him. He was locked in a passionate embrace with Arya Stark. Connington knew instantly she had shared the prince’s bed that night. Her arms were around his neck and she was standing on her toes. Her hair was an uncombed mess. Aegon had one hand clutching her waist and the other at her buttocks. They didn’t even part when he cleared his throat. He fumed at being made to feel like an intruder.

 

They finally separated with clear reluctance, Aegon trying to force some promise of restraint from the girl. Connington managed to hold back from snorting.  _She will do what she wants._  He watched the person responsible for his rift with the prince reach up and touch Aegon’s jaw tenderly.

 

“Make peace.”

 

Aegon frowned at Connington as Arya slipped out of his hold and began to make her way to the exit of the tent. She pulled her hood up and gave a small nod in his direction but he could not accept the peace offering.

 

“You could have cost him everything being seen like that.”

 

Arya narrowed her eyes. “Do you really think I did not hear you coming my lord?”

 

Jon opened his mouth to respond but Aegon cut in. “That is enough my lord.” The prince watched until the Stark girl was gone. He turned his attention to Connington once she left their sight. “How go the preparations.”

 

Connington paused a moment, taking in the prince’s tense body language. “Everything is in place.”

 

Aegon cleared his throat and paced a little. “Tell me the plans again.” When Connington gave him a sharp look the prince clenched his jaw. “I value your counsel in these matters my lord,” he said stiffly. Each word seemed grudging. “I always have.”

 

Grudging or not, Connington accepted the offering. As he spoke he saw Aegon calming. The prince nodded at intervals, adding his own input. Jon watched the prince move to sit on a stool and followed his lead. He declined to comment on the love bite visible on Aegon’s neck. The prince appeared happier than he had been even with the usual signs of agitation from impending battle.

 

_This is her influence._

Jon knew the girl was the reason Aegon made this effort. Her prodding him helped but the grudge had been caused not just by Jon’s counsel but also her distance. Now that she was close again the prince was warmer.  _It still cannot be_. He held his tongue but it did not change matters.

 

When Aegon stood, Connington knew they were done.

 

“Have you broken your fast?” Aegon asked.

 

Jon nodded. “What of you?”

 

Aegon shook his head. “I have no appetite for food.”

 

Connington tensed and got to his feet. “It is time then.” He hesitated before extending a gloved hand. Aegon paused before clasping his arm.

 

“Be safe my lord.”

 

Connington saw him reach for his helm before echoing the sentiment. He looked back into the pavilion as he left, passing Nymeria Sand. With the helm in place Aegon was the image of Rhaegar in his armour.

 

_He must not share his fate._

**Aegon**

Aegon knew there would be some time yet before his turn in combat came. A squire held the reins of a chestnut stallion, keeping the horse still for him to mount. Once ahorse he kept his visor raised so that he might see, not that there was anything to see yet. Aegon would command from the rear. It was the place Lord Connington knew well and his counsel rang in Aegon’s ears still.

 

From a distance Aegon could not see the ram being brought up to the gates of the city. He did hear it though. The sound was faint but distinct, the crash of wood on wood. It had been determined that there would be three points of breach into the city, the King’s gate, the Gate of the Gods and the Iron gate. Aegon knew what he heard was the assault on the King’s gate. Similar scenes would be underway at the other gates, a strategy aimed to divide the forces within the city.

 

His attention wandered briefly to Arya as he rode along the line of men who would join the assault when the gate gave way. He exchanged words with each, taking in the sigils they wore. The Stark banner flew somewhere in the distance, within the group targeting the Gate of the Gods. Arya would be with them likely doing the same thing he was now. The men each offered him smiles and boasts but he barely heard them with the blood pounding in his ears.

 

A messenger approached quickly, breathless and blustering.

 

“Your grace, the gate will not hold much longer but Lord Connington has requested the next wave of men. The forces within have begun taking action to disperse the attack.”

 

Aegon nodded. It was not at all unexpected. He shouted the command and heard it echo down the line. The men did not hesitate and even with the day being cloudy, their armour glistened as they rode forth, their colourful cloaks whipping and flapping in the wind as they picked up speed. He watched them shrink into the distance and began to prepare the next wave of reinforcements. It was difficult. They wanted action now rather than later and Aegon shared the sentiment.

 

Time seemed to pass slowly. His initial lack of appetite passed and he gave in and ate from the minimal food on offer. Messengers came and went. They described the scene at the wall of the city and Aegon’s mind wandered again briefly trying to imagine what it looked like. They had lost men already he knew. The city defenders were strategically placed to attack those they could reach as they tried to breach the gates. The attempts to disperse his men would fail. Lord Connington had especially selected them. They would not break and run.

 

He heard the gate give way. The cracking sound of splintering wood echoed over the distance and the cheers from the men travelled down the lines until it reached those around Aegon. He felt his heart beat a little faster. He took a quick swallow of water and dropped the visor on his helm. At his shout, his battle guard drew closer. Nymeria Sand was amongst them despite his initial protests. Connington had been displeased too but she would not be denied.

 

“My father trained me to fight. I am going to fight with you cousin.”

 

She and Arya both weighed on his mind. Both were to keep to the rear and he hoped it meant minimal chance of them being caught up in combat. War was no place for a woman, even women like Arya and Nym. Personal guards might keep them safe but if the enemy reached them, death was not the only fear Aegon held. He knew what happened to women when cities fell. He knew what had happened to his mother.

 

_Even our own men may not be innocent in that regard._

 

He watched and saw the men breach the city. The warhorn sounded, a long low blast to signal not only to Aegon that they had broken the gate but also to send the signal to those at the other gates. He heard men shout  _his_  name. The sound was a familiar one. This was not his first battle but it was the one which would make him King in truth.

 

He nudged his horse forward, not to enter the city as yet but to gain a better vantage point for command. They were too far away. He saw the men more clearly as he drew closer, rushing through the broken gate to kill those within or die trying. The clash of steel on steel echoed, he heard cries of “Lannister” as well as “Targaryen”.

 

The warhorn sounded again and this time, after only a short delay there was an answering blast. It carried faintly on the air but it was unmistakeable.  _Another gate has been breached_. He wondered briefly if it was the Dornish or whether it was the Northern and Riverlands crew. When the wolves howled he knew. The sound sent a shiver through him and he imagined what it must sound like to those within the city.

 

The messenger arrived not long after and Aegon braced himself for the news. He recognised the young man as one from the Northern army.

 

“They broke through the gate, your grace,” the young man said proudly.

 

“What of Arya?” Aegon prompted, forgetting titles for the moment. “I heard the wolves.” The young man hesitated and Aegon tensed. “Tell me,” he demanded.

 

“The queen still has her battle guard,” he said slowly.

 

Aegon did not need to hear the rest. “She has joined the battle.”

 

The messenger raised his head proudly. “She said her father and her brother would not hide while the men fought and died.”

 

 _Her words_  Aegon knew. He dismissed the messenger and nudged his horse forward, giving the command to advance. He had been patient long enough. He saw Nym grin under the half helm she wore and the Targaryen banner whipped in the wind as they approached the fray.

 

**Arya**

Arya had sat motionless in her saddle as they rammed the gate. She summoned her training, restraining herself to watching until the time came to act. The Blackfish remained close by her side. She could not see his face and his voice was muffled under his helm. She did not need to see him to know his thoughts.

 

They wanted her to command from a distance and she agreed to it at first. Her guards kept close. The Skagosi looked wary and she knew the city must seem foreign to him. She reassured him in the old tongue. Thoros looked very grave but he stayed close too. Her uncle advised her that she must speak with the men, let them see her and hear her so they were reminded who they were fighting for.

 

“They fight for my father and my brother,” Arya replied. “They fight for those no longer here.”

 

The Blackfish nodded and she sensed he smiled under his helm. “That is so but they also fight for you. You represent House Stark.”

 

Arya said nothing in response but the first seed of doubt took root in her mind. She rode amongst the men, speaking with all she could in the time that remained. There seemed a lot of time until suddenly there was none. Those wielding the ram were mostly Golden Company men under the command of Lord Connington. Once their part was done, her own men had to act. The splintering of the wood as the hinges gave way signalled the beginning.

 

She heard the sound of the warhorn a little before the ram finished its work. The Blackfish told her what it meant. There should have been an answer from the men stationed at the Gate of the Gods but those within the city chose that moment to launch more stones over the wall. Even from a distance away Arya heard the crunch of impact. She kept her face still.

 

“They will not break,” Ser Brynden told her. “They are too seasoned for that. We have numbers on our side and once inside the city we will have the advantage.”

 

 _We have numbers on our side_. Her uncle did not sound cheerful but neither was he particularly bothered either. Arya wondered whether those lying under those stones were men she had japed with, whether she had sparred with them or had dinner with them. They might even have pursued her at one point, telling her of their wish for a home in Westeros and offering to make a home with her. Her refusal of their suit did not make it feel any more wrong.

 

The final crack of the wood as the ram finished its work was followed by shouts of “Winterfell” and “Targaryen”. Arya gave the command for the first reserves of her men to join those entering the city. Keeping her distance was becoming increasingly difficult and as the raven took flight, Arya found herself looking over the city from the skies. She did not see for long but it was long enough.

 

She felt the jolt of Bran’s connection and the heightened emotions that came with it. On top of that she saw the carnage within the city walls. Kings Landing was not as she remembered. It had been ravaged and she recalled what she had heard from Sandor of the conflict between the gold cloaks and the Faith Militant. War had begun long before they had arrived.

 

Outside the city she saw Targaryen banners in one direction and knew Aegon was safe and showing restraint in his command. The third point of assault where the Dornish joined the remaining forces was well on their way to breaking through their own gate and finally she saw the wolves. They were circling and they were waiting, waiting for her.

 

The Blackfish called her name when she returned and she heard his concern.

 

“You must not worry uncle,” she said calmly though her mind felt anything but calm. “The Dornish are about to break through. The city is very damaged inside though. I fear it will be a hollow victory for Aegon.”

 

Ser Brynden yanked his visor up just as the warhorn sounded again from the Kings gate. “Arya what do you mean child? We have no reports from the Dornish or within the city yet.”

 

The horn blew to announce their entry into the city, to notify the others. “You will see it uncle,” Arya replied. She felt Nymeria and closed her eyes, hoping not to fall from her horse. The remains of her connection to Bran lingered but it faded as she joined the wolves. They needed little encouragement. They had been waiting for her and Nymeria threw her head back and howled. Her brothers and sisters joined her and they began to stalk closer to the men, following the scent of fear.

 

She had slumped in her saddle when she came back to herself again and her uncle looked even more worried. She heard him shout as she dug her heels into her horse, urging it on. Her battle guard moved forward with her and the Blackfish quickly moved to keep pace.

 

“Robb did not command from the rear,” she told him. “I cannot do it either. I am a wolf and if my pack is hunting then so am I.”

 

Ser Brynden frowned. “Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?”

 

Arya shook her head. “Take the command outside the city uncle. I will see you when the battle is done.”

 

More men joined her as she neared the city, the Stark banner flapping by her side where one of the squires held it aloft. A messenger pulled up alongside her as she approached the broken gate, asking if she wished to add to the message he carried to prince Aegon. She passed on some quick words feeling a twinge of guilt as she pictured Aegon’s reaction.

 

She could sense the wolf pack quickly drawing closer. The cry went up again when they entered through the broken gates. “Winterfell!”

 


	79. Chapter 79: Connington | Arya

**Chapter 79: Connington | Arya**

**Connington**

Jon Connington’s voice held out as he continued to shout commands. He knew he would be hoarse by the time the day was done. Breaching the gates was only the first step. He fought not to frown as the men cheered. Gaining access was not a triumph. They won no advantage until numbers favoured them within the city.

 

His thoughts were confirmed as the first wave of men entered through the broken gate. The width of the gates only allowed a restricted number to ride through at once. Connington had anticipated it, choosing the first men carefully. They were not the best fighting men but they did not lack for courage. The Golden Company were no ordinary sellswords and they did not back out in the face of death. Men continued to ride through the gates as stones were lobbed from the wall and the sound of steel on steel rang through the air.

 

Jon watched from a close vantage point, out of reach of the city defenders but poised to join the assault when the time was right. The archers targeted those on the wall when they came in sight but many managed to hide within the gatehouses. The first messenger rode up to him looking pale and shaken. A squire by all appearances, one with little experience of war but he delivered his message nonetheless despite being clearly shaken.

 

“My lord,” the boy’s voice shook slightly and he swallowed hard. Connington expected he was about to vomit. “The men in the city surrounded us when we passed through the gate. They killed our men.”

 

Connington nodded. “Go back inside and see how they fare now that they have faced more opponents.”

 

For a moment the boy did not look like he had understood. As Connington predicted, he swayed in his saddle and threw up over the side. The contents of his stomach spilled over his arm and splattered against the legs of his horse as the animal shifted impatiently. The squire was still spluttering and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. Connington set a cold gaze on him.  _We do not have time for this._

 

“I gave a command,” he said. “Are you incapable?”

 

The boy swayed again and continued to look pale as milk but he nodded. “I will do as you bid me my lord.” He hesitated a moment still and the warhorn from one of the other points of attack sounded. It was followed not long afterwards by the howling of wolves. Jon had seen the direwolf in action and for a moment felt a sense of grim satisfaction before he turned his impatience on the squire.

 

“Do not wait for my leave,” Connington said abruptly. “When you get your commands obey them immediately.”

 

The squire did not linger any longer. Jon watched him ride back into the city thinking back to when he was a boy. He and Rhaegar both squired together in King’s Landing, the very city they now wished to take. He still remembered his own nerves during his first battle. He pushed the thought from his head. The squire had shown courage to return to the scene Jon could picture quite clearly.  _He might be a promising knight if he survives._

 

It was not to be. Connington recognised the next messenger as one of the more seasoned men. He approached Jon quickly with a respectful nod.

 

“The defenders at the gate are dead on their feet my lord. They look to be organising another sortie but we have them.”

 

Jon expected this news. He did not bother to ask after the squire. The boy would be dead and if not, he would find him in the city. He called for his helm and shouted to the company around him.

 

“Form up!”

 

They promptly fell into formation and Jon loosened his sword in the scabbard with stiff, uncooperative fingers. He unsheathed it, raising it into the air and gave the shout to proceed.

 

“For Aegon!”

 

He heard them echo it behind him and spurred his horse towards the city. Arrows flew through the air on either side of him as he approached, ensuring the defenders did not manage to kill all who attempted to pass. Stones still tumbled from overhead crashing blindly. Most missed their targets but some landed on steel and flesh. Connington kept a sharp eye out as he passed through the wreckage of what was once the King’s gate. He heard a cry as stone tumbled down behind him. He cursed and kept on moving.

 

The scene inside the gate was as he had pictured. Mayhaps it was better than he pictured. The ground inside the gate was strewn with bodies. Some fell from the wall. He saw them feathered with arrows. Others still met their end by sword or lance. The men Jon sent in first had been butchered. He scanned over them quickly in an attempt to count before giving it up and settling for the knowledge that they may be many but they were still lighter losses than expected.

 

The foes were engaged with the men already in the city. Connington noted that the gold cloaks were few. The men on the opposing side wore primarily Lannister colours. They received news to that effect beforehand but Connington needed to see it. More of their archers joined the fray now, ending those still appearing on the gatehouse walls. Jon saw men climb up into the gatehouses and soon no more attacks came from atop the city wall. The path was clear for the remainder of the men to enter the city.

 

He called out to his men. “Lances” and sped his horse past a trot and into a canter. They drew close but before they met the opponent he saw them break and try to run. They were outmatched and Jon knew they were aware of it. Those still standing their ground did not have a hope. Jon braced for impact but felt little of it as he rode down one man and his sword sheared off the arm of another. The lack of feeling in his arm dulled the pain he might have felt but it also impaired his accuracy.

 

He wheeled his horse around to see the ground turning even bloodier than it had been. Brown sludge made his horse almost slide where snow, blood and mud had mixed together. He shouted again and knew well enough to keep moving. Aegon must have sent another wave of men into the city. He saw them entering through the gate.

 

“With me,” he shouted to those around him. The new men could finish the enemy. Those who had cut through needed to advance further. A spear thudded against his shield but the man who wielded it fell victim to another sword before Connington had his chance to meet the foe. He looked around him, seeing Visenya’s hill on his left through the narrow vision of his eyeslit and urged his horse on along River Row.

 

The opposition seemed less than he might have expected as they headed towards the Mud Gate. He slowed his horse, letting the men straggling behind form up better. The ease of their path did not fool him. He knew the enemy must be prepared to defend strategically just as Aegon’s attack was spread to maximise the impact. He heard the warhorns once again and knew that the rest of the men must be entering from the Gate of the Gods and the Iron Gate. Scenes such as that at the Kings Gate would be replicated there.

 

They spotted a formation of Lannister men awaiting them at the next gate. Too late a messenger arrived and Connington fell back to hear the tidings. The man looked grave and Jon wondered what could possibly have gone wrong in such a short time.

 

“What news?” he prompted.

 

“The Gate of the Gods has been breached. Arya Stark gave her position of command to her uncle and advanced on the city.”

 

Jon knew what came next. “Does the prince know?”

 

The man nodded. “Prince Aegon has joined the battle my lord.”

 

Connington might have cursed but there was no point. He looked back and knew there was nothing to be done. Turning back was not an option. He gave the messenger a report to pass onto Aegon and returned to his men. Some had heard and he saw them look tense. He began to rally them to advance again.

 

“Proceed with the attack,” he commanded. “Lances!”

 

As he watched the men surge forward, Connington knew he must clear the path and hope Aegon’s guards might do their duty and keep the prince safe. His anger must wait until the battle was done.

 

**Arya**

 

Arya was not quite ready for what lay inside the broken Gate of the Gods. The men who made up her guard formed a wall in front of her but she still saw. Dead bodies were nothing new to her. She handled the dead in the House of Black and White but there was just so many. They covered the ground of the market square where Arya knew farmers once gathered to sell vegetables. She tried to see if she knew them but the helm restricted her view. She only barely heard Thoros speak to her over the continued clash of steel.

 

“We must keep moving Your Grace.”

 

Arya knew he was right. She urged her horse into a trot and looked, just as Syrio had taught her to. The men in red and gold kept fighting but fear and fatigue showed on their faces. Arya kept her sword held tightly in her hand, the valyrian steel blade forged from Ice, and adjusted her shield. The sword did not feel as familiar as a bravo blade in her hand but it was right for this. She trained for this, her uncle had given in after he saw she would not stay out of a fight but it did not come so easily as some of the other tactics she knew. The helm took some getting used to as did having a shield on one arm.

 

_I still learned faster than the men._

 

Ser Brynden had told her so with pride. She pushed the memory from her head, knowing she needed to focus. None of the gold cloaks or Lannister men came close to her yet, she was too shielded for them to reach her but she needed to be ready. Her horse almost slipped and Arya guided the animal out of the sludge to more stable ground. Not that there was much stable ground.

 

As she moved beyond the carnage near the gates a man managed to break through to her crying “King’s Landing!” Arya swung her sword and the valyrian steel sliced through his spear as though it was nothing. Her second swing took his arm off by the elbow and as her horse spun, knowing what to do seemingly with little instruction, the sword caught the man below his jaw. His blood sprayed across her breeches but she paid little attention to it.

More kept coming but Arya saw that her men (and Aegon’s) held the advantage by numbers alone. More joined them with every minute that passed. A shout came to cut their way through and from the look of the banners flapping further up the road towards Cobbler’s square, a number of their men had already done just that. Arrows whistled past her ear and she saw two gold cloaks fall. Another man was trampled under the hooves of her horse as she began to press forward.

 

She soon realised they knew who she was. Their attack became more desperate in trying to reach her. The man carrying her banner fell but another took it up in his place. She repeated the same phrase over in her head,  _fear cuts deeper than swords_  as her heart pounded in her chest. Calm descended over her suddenly as a warhorn sounded in the distance and the sounds and smell of the battle became sharper. Her vision was no longer restricted by a helm and she heard the panic as she approached, the blood stained snow crunching under her paws.

 

Cries of alarm filled the air and the stench of fear grew stronger as her brothers and sisters began to feed on the bodies littering the ground. Bones crunched as she took hold of a man, pulling him to the ground and shaking him. A voice cut across, pulling her away as she spun to avoid the sharp end of a weapon. They were slow, far too slow and she had hungered for too long.

 

“Your Grace,” the voice called again.

 

Arya gasped as she left Nymeria to her next kill and felt an arm grasping hers. The Skagosi righted her in the saddle and she saw her guards had closed around her again. Her sword was thrust back into her hand. Thoros slashed with his own flaming weapon on her opposite side.

 

“You must be careful doing that,” he warned. “You are defenceless when you are the wolf.”

 

“I am not,” Arya retorted. “Nymeria won’t let anybody hurt me.”

 

Thoros paused to deflect another but the interruption was short.

 

“That may be so,” Thoros conceded “but how much of Nymeria remains when you take over?”

 

Arya knew what he meant. She looked to the other men. They watched her with wary expressions.

 

“No harm is to come to the wolves,” she commanded.

 

Nymeria had not gone far but the presence of the wolves had struck fear into their foes. Many ran or yielded. She watched as the remainder were dealt with. Those hiding in the gatehouse gave up and a man paused by Arya’s side, awaiting her communication.

 

“Tell Ser Brynden the enemy has surrendered this area to us.” She hesitated, wanting to push on but knew she needed to show she knew what waited for them. “Tell him we are going to know what lies ahead of us before we ride into the city centre.”

 

The man nodded. Arya did not wait after he left, looking at her surroundings as she urged her horse along the road. She saw dismay on the faces of her men and knew the question before they asked. The raven cawed above her and Arya made herself smile.

 

“I did not lie,” she told them. “We will know what is ahead before we reach it.”

 

They looked at her puzzled until she told them what she saw. Some doubted, she knew but as they passed the places she described and saw the damage the war within the city had inflicted doubt faded. Those who had ridden blindly ahead were engaged in fighting in Cobbler’s square. Everything rushed together in a blur as Arya’s reinforcements aided those who were struggling. The shouting continued.

 

“Winterfell!”

 

Arya looked around her as the enemy began to retreat and surrender once more. People hid inside their homes. When she dismounted to look around, Nymeria joined her. The faces looking down on her were filled with fear. Arya wanted to tell them they did not need to worry but when she began to speak they fled their windows.

 

She led her horse through the streets taking a brief respite. It seemed so long already but they weren’t close to done yet. Arya knew patience. She trained in it. She launched herself back into the saddle and rode on through the streets. Men still ran at them as they advanced but their numbers were too few. Arya had her guards and Nymeria was the most deadly of all. Some of the smaller grey wolves joined her again when they closed in on the city centre.

 

The Great Sept of Baelor came into view on Arya’s right as they reached the bottom of Visenya’s Hill. The scene reminded her of how it all started. She heard Sansa’s screams once more. She remembered everything from that day, the sights and sounds. The sept had recently come under assault. Arya saw it from the sky but being closer showed her more clearly the toll the fight between the Faith Militant and the city guards had taken.

 

 _Good_  she thought to herself looking at where pillars were barely holding on.  _I hope they have to tear it down._

The fighting became more frenzied again and Arya found herself pulling back to pass around the Guildhall of the Alchemists.  _I want to go to the Red Keep_. That was where she would find Cersei and Ser Meryn. Her hate rose up inside her as she thought of Syrio.  _Look with your eyes. Quiet as a shadow. Quick as a snake._ Arya remembered it all, just as clearly as she remembered Ser Meryn advancing on her dancing master.

She looked now at the opponents waiting for them, all formed up with one shouting commands. They were armed with lances, axes, spears and sword but Arya did not take note of that long, Her limited eyesight saw the white cloak hanging from the shoulders of the man in command.  _Which one is it?_  He wore steel from head to toe but Arya needed to know.

 

In the end it did not matter. The Dornish army advanced from the other direction and Arya knew their enemies were cornered. They knew it too. Some still tried to fight and died. Others tried to flee and they too died. Arya herself killed the men who managed to get past Nymeria and her guards. She was blood from wrist to shoulder and her shield became dented as she pushed free of her men to the man in white who had been forced to yield.

 

A woman stood over him barking questions. Arya dropped her shield, lifted the visor on her helm and moved quickly. She gripped the sword in her hand tightly, readying herself. She tried to remember what Ser Meryn looked like then decided it did not matter. She would know him when she saw him. The Dornish woman wielded a whip rather menacingly but the man in front of her did not cower. When Arya saw her more closely she realised who she was, not only from her look and her command but also from the distinctive shield she carried. Nym had described it.

 

_This is Obara Sand._

Obara cracked the whip so that it caught the Kingsguard knight around his arm. As she yanked his sword, already on offer, fell from his hand.

 

“I do not need your permission to take your sword,” she was saying.

 

Arya crept closer, quiet as a shadow but the Dornish soldiers saw her and Obara looked at her with cool appraisal.

 

“I seek Ser Meryn Trant,” Arya said, licking her lips. “I owe him a debt.”

 

Obara smiled and her eyes lingered on Arya’s sword. “I see the  _debt_  you speak of but this is not him. This is Ser Balon Swann.”

 

Arya wanted to argue but the knight lifted his helm and she saw it was the truth. “Where is he?” she demanded. “Tell me where I can find him.”

 

The knight looked at her, resignation in his features. Nymeria stepped forward growling and he shrank back from the direwolf.

 

“He guards the Red Keep.”

 

Arya did not wait any longer. She heard a cry behind her and knew the knight had met his end. She tried to push uncomfortable thoughts from her head. It was her father’s voice she realised.  _We do not kill prisoners._  He had yielded. He was an enemy though. He served Cersei and he did everything wrong thing she asked.

 

_Sandor did too._

 

The reminder did not sit well with her. She expected her father might have let Ser Balon take the black.  _He might have helped Jon_. She shook her head and looked around, shouting for her men. A messenger left, riding back towards the gate and Arya shook her head when asked if she had more to share.

 

“With me,” she commanded the men around her. “We ride for the Red Keep.”

 

**Connington**

 

Jon Connington soon realised why there were fewer soldiers than might be expected at the Mud Gate. The gate was open and he saw ships setting out to sea.  _They are fleeing_. The most craven were gone but those who remained offered dogged resistance. A messenger arrived in the midst of the fighting, reporting that the Gate of the Gods was now secure. The Kings Gate held too and the prince had cut across to the Street of Steel.

 

“He is headed to the Great Sept my lord,” the man offered.

 

Connington knew better.  _He hopes to intercept the Stark girl_. He made a gesture to dismiss the messenger but the man was not yet done.

 

“We have reports the Dornish secured the Iron Gate. Their attack was not expected and they had little opposition. They are within the city under Lady Obara’s command.”

 

It was good news and bad news. The city would soon be overrun and success was a certainty. Casualties, however, were likely to be high with a Sand Snake in command. Connington did what needed to be done. Prince Oberyn’s daughters went further than that. They needed to limit damage, maximise hostages for ransom and broker peace when done. He hid his unhappiness.

 

Aegon’s fate weighed heavily on his mind. The warriors sons and poor fellows would not harm the prince. Connington was certain of that. They viewed Aegon as the rightful King. They chose him over Myrcella, that much they learned at Harrenhal and again from the Eunuch’s letter, Connington clenched his fist at the thought of Varys.

 

_I will deal with him._

  
He hoped that Aegon might reach the sept with little opposition. The prince’s battle guard comprised hardened warriors. They would die before letting the enemy near Aegon and they would not die easily. For now though, Connington knew he must focus on the battle at hand.

 

His slow reflexes were becoming increasingly problematic and he held back to command his men. They did not question it even though his usual role would be to lead. Resentment boiled within him that it came to this, his body betraying him when he needed it most. As Hand, he had a right to hold back in a position of protection. It still hurt his pride but he  _would_  see Aegon on the throne.

 

The resistance at the gate did not last despite the determination of the Lannister men stationed there. Jon appointed men to guard the exit. It had not been easy so far but he knew the worst was yet to come. After questioning the prisoners taken at the gate, his expectations were confirmed. The Red Keep would be the most fortified and well guarded part of the city.

 

It did not dull the spirits of his men. He heard them talking with animation.

 

“We will finally set eyes on this throne we hear so much of.”

 

Connington ignored them, giving the command to ride on. Men were stationed along the wall so he gave the command to approach the Keep via The Hook. The way was still blocked by men and they hacked, cut and slashed their way through the few who opposed them.

 

The ascent of Aegon’s High Hill was made difficult with their enemies having the higher ground. They gave way, however, at the approach.  _They know they are done_. Connington dismounted when he reached the drawbridge. It was still raised but it began to lower. He spoke to his men, warning them to be wary and removed his helm just for a moment. One glance at the Targaryen banner flapping beside him was all the distraction it took and the air was knocked out of him.

 

He heard the shouts and tried to warn them.

 

“Stay back!”

 


	80. Chapter 80: Aegon | Arya | Cersei

**Chapter 80: Aegon | Arya | Cersei**

 

**Aegon**

 

After Aegon entered through the gate his eyes scanned the area quickly. He knew Lord Connington had been inside the city for a time before he advanced but still did not know how far ahead of him his Hand was.  _He will be wroth with me_. Aegon knew he did the right thing. Remaining outside the city after the gate was secured would make him a craven. Arya had the right of it even though her words did not refer to him.

 

_I must not hide while my men fight and die._

Men gathered close to him, bringing various reports. They told him of the losses and brought a report of Lord Connington being headed for the Mud Gate. Aegon knew what he needed to do. He thought quickly on the map he had studied of the city and gave the command to cut through to the Street of Steel from River Row. He would join up with the Northern forces, mayhaps the Dornish too if the timing was right. They could march on the Red Keep together.

 

The path seemed fairly unobstructed though there were signs of past fighting. He saw dead men lying in the street. Nym remained close by his side offering encouragement. Few of his guards disapproved. Aegon knew them well enough to know that although their priority was to keep him safe, they were not used to being out of the action. They thrived on combat. His decision to ride into the city, while likely to anger his Hand, gave almost everybody else exactly what they wanted.

 

He focused on where he wanted to be, his patience wearing thin with each delay. As they climbed Visenya’s Hill and closed in on the Great Sept, he was greeted by the ranks of the Faith Militant. The Warrior’s Sons were distinguishable by their rainbow cloaks. Aegon nodded greetings to them and received courteous responses but they appeared tense. He supposed that was to be expected in the midst of a war.

 

They watched as he and his guards rode along the street. Aegon was a little puzzled but he dismissed the feeling.  _It is not their war_. He supposed it made sense for them to observe but given he knew they already fought against the gold cloaks and Lannister men it seemed strange they did not take part. No doubt Lord Connington or Arya might have some insight as to why but Aegon could not dwell on it.

 

_They do not oppose me and right now that is all that matters._

The Great Sept came into view and Aegon looked on it with curiosity. It did not look as he expected. The structure looked worn and in disrepair. Aegon saw signs of destruction all along the way through the city but he expected the sept to be spared. He frowned before his attention became distracted by the mounted men he saw in the distance.

 

Nym spoke behind him, saying something about wanting to enter the sept. Aegon ignored her and gave the command to keep moving. He squinted to see the banners, resisting the urge to lift his visor. They were not sigils he knew well.  _The Dornish_. He felt a new rush of adrenaline as he moved to join them. He had met with many of the leading Dornish lords in planning the attack but not all.

 

_They will know me._

 

The woman giving commands addressed him abruptly.

 

“Cousin Aegon.”

 

He paused a moment before Nym interjected.

 

“Obara,” she said in an almost playful tone. “I am pleased our Uncle set you loose. Have you seen our other sweet sister yet?”

 

Aegon could not see her face under the helm she wore but Obara did not seem in the least playful. He had not met the eldest Sand Snake. He knew she was one in command but she remained in the Dornish camp before the attack and was known to be prickly.

 

“No,” she said shortly. “We are not here for family reunions. Tyene can wait.”

 

Aegon took little notice of their exchange, instead observing the white cloak one of the men brandished like a prize. It brought to mind Arya’s quest.

 

“Who does that belong to?” he asked.

 

“Ser Balon Swann,” Obara replied.

 

Aegon heard Nym laugh. “I trust you exacted your vengeance against him for the plot against Trystane. Obara and Ser Balon had quite the history cousin. I knew if they were to meet again it would not end well.”

 

Obara’s tone was clipped. “I warned him.”

 

Aegon had heard quite enough. “What of the North men?” he pressed. “Have you seen them?”

 

Obara read him more easily than he might have liked and Aegon wondered exactly what Nym had told her family. “I saw her, her  _and_  that monstrous direwolf. They passed through not long ago. She wants Kingsguard. If I hadn’t been waiting for men I might have gone with her.”

 

“Where?” he asked, suspecting he knew the answer.

 

“The Red Keep,” Obara replied. “She moves quickly. You were not wrong about her Nym.”

 

“I should be wounded if I thought you doubted me.”

 

Obara began moving quickly and Aegon saw she had as little patience for the conversation as he did. He called to his guards as the Dornish host finished forming up.

 

“We shall ride together for the Red Keep.,” He raised his voice in the hopes the Dornish might hear him. “The city is already falling. Join with me. The remainder of my men await us. We will take the Red Keep together.”

 

He felt another surge of excitement run through him as they shouted his name. He was so close now. A short ride up Aegon’s Hill and he would see the Keep where the Targaryen Kings ruled. He urged his horse forward, joining the Dornish host. His one hope was that Arya did not do anything reckless before he got there.

 

 _Let me take my throne and be crowned in her presence_.

 

**Arya**

 

Arya was ascending Aegon’s High hill and the gathering of Aegon’s men were within sight when the messenger drew close looking strained.

 

“What is it?” she demanded. As far as she knew, although they had losses the city was falling. This man’s expression however did not tell a story of success. He began to ride with her as she approached the gathering to see the Targaryen banner still flapping in the breeze.

 

“The Prince,” the man began. “He refused to remain outside the city.”

 

Arya did not let him finish. She heard the drawbridge begin to lower and heard the alarmed shouts. The man holding the Targaryen banner dropped it. The voices gave it away. Arya saw men crowding close and knew something terrible had happened to somebody important. She tried to calm herself as she leapt from her horse but her heart pounded rapidly in her chest. Her guards shouted to her but she paid them no mind as she discarded her shield.

 

Her foot slid a little before she gained her footing and she tore her helm off, resenting that the slippery ground would not let her run.

 

 _I told him not to take risks. He told me he would be careful_.

 

The men recognised her as she approached and they parted way for her. She knew she said something to them but she had lost awareness of everything but seeing and fearing what lay ahead of her. She resisted the urge to call out to Aegon. She did not know if he could even still hear her and that thought was even worse.

 

The last of them seemed to move more slowly and Arya knew she shouted. She still gripped her father’s sword in her hand. She held onto it tightly and heard Nymeria whine beside her. The sound frightened her even more.

 

When she saw him a wave of relief washed over her but it was short lived. A lump formed in her throat and she tried to swallow past it. Lord Connington had fallen to his knees and an arrow was sticking out from his chest. Another had struck him in the shoulder. Arya closed the distance as he slumped over onto his side.

 

“Stay back,” he said, so softly.

 

Arya ignored him and dropped to her knees beside him. She reached for his hand and he pulled away. The other men moved back away and Arya heard dark mutterings of greyscale and knew Connington had told them. She looked at the arrows. They had pierced his ringmail and were embedded far deeper than they should be.

 

“Find the archer,” she barked out. “He was amongst you. Make sure there are no more.”

 

Arya knew the man had likely tried to flee. She did not touch the arrows but she knew they had to have been shot from close range to make such an impact. The men obeyed her and she realised the drawbridge was down. She wondered briefly who had lowered it. Those within did not look as though they had a part in it.

 

“Stay back,” Lord Connington said again.

 

Arya persisted this time, taking his gloved hand in hers. “No,” she said stubbornly. “You are my friend.”

 

She did not know how much pain he felt but he scowled at her nonetheless. It passed to be replaced by another expression Arya knew well. She had seen it on many dying men. Lord Connington was afraid.

 

“I must not look like a fool. A stupid mistake. I am slower... I still have my wits. The boy...”

 

“You made no mistake,” Arya told him. “Aegon will know.”

 

He gripped her hand, awkwardly but tightly. “I failed.” His voice was quieter but Arya still made out the words. His eyelids fluttered shut. “Rhaegar.”

 

“No,” Arya told him again. She looked up and through a gap she saw a hooded figure. They watched her. It was a woman. Arya could tell by the way she held herself. She dressed like a peasant but something was wrong about it. Some people remained in the streets, frightened and hurrying away from the soldiers as they passed. Nymeria’s eyes were sharper than hers. The direwolf took a few steps closer and the woman still watched though a man took her arm. He said something and Arya tried to be certain but she was pulled back too soon.

 

“Rhaegar,” Lord Connington said once more. “I wanted... Aegon was meant to....”

 

Arya had to make a decision and she couldn’t do both. The woman was leaving and Lord Connington looked at her with glassy eyes. His expression was hard until the end but Arya saw beneath it. She put her sword across her knees and placed her other hand over his so that she held onto him with both hands.

 

“You died giving the commands which will give Aegon his throne,” she told him. “What are your commands my lord?”

 

She waited a moment while Connington blinked. Understanding dawned on him and he spoke to her softly. Arya relayed the message to the men around her. She only had to say it once. She looked back down at Lord Connington. His eyes were closed but he lingered.

 

“Aegon needs Daenerys and her dragons,” he whispered. “You are not unworthy.”

 

Arya felt her eyes sting. Lord Connington fell silent. His grip loosened on her hand and she knew he had breathed his last. Amongst the mayhem of battle she rose and turned to Thoros. He waited close to her.

 

“Guard his body,” she told him. “He should be burned.” She thought that might have been what Lord Connington would want.

 

Arya took up her sword once more and put her helm back on. She declined the shield they offered and advanced toward the Red Keep.

 

**Cersei**

Cersei Lannister refused to speak about the impending attack until the raven was delivered. She read the messy handwriting and the signature from her twin. After all this time she had wondered if he might be dead. She told herself he wasn’t, that she would know if he died but it had been so long. Her fingers shook as she read and her initial surprise turned into rage.

 

_He abandoned me. He left me here alone._

He suggested what her bannermen also pushed her to do. Leave the Red Keep to the Targaryen army. Get out before they could bring House Lannister down. Jaime did not suggest surrender as her men did. He was not so foolish as that. Instead he pushed her to retreat. Cersei lingered in the throne room right up until the last minute.

 

 _They will think they have defeated me_  she thought bitterly.

 

Qyburn was by her side when she made her move. Her disguise ensured she was not detected. She moved closer, pausing so that she might see just as the Targaryen forces gathered fell into confusion. She heard the shouts.  _Their leader has fallen_. She stood on higher ground, giving her a line of vision albeit not the best one. Cersei felt her hopes rise until she saw the banner approaching. The grey direwolf stood out on the white field but worse than that was the small figure dismounting and leading the North men.

 

At first Cersei thought it was just a small man. The voice carrying above the other noise gave away her error.

 

“Make way,” the girl shouted. “Let me through.”

 

The men parted before her allowing Cersei a proper view. The young woman held her helm loosely in her fingers. Her dark hair blew in the breeze, showing a long face. Cersei did not need to be closer to see if the girl had dark grey eyes. The monstrous direwolf at her side answered that. The girl might have been beautiful but it was hard to tell from so far away.

 

“We must go your grace,” Qyburn urged her but Cersei did not heed him. She had to see this girl. Sandor Clegane betrayed his allegiance to Casterly Rock, his allegiance to  _her_  over this girl. The prince gave her half of Westeros. Men obeyed her, even feared her. This girl had the power and loyalty that belonged to  _Cersei_. Cersei would see her before she must leave.

 

Arya Stark wore armour, ringmail over leather. The sword in her hand swung and caught the light. Despite the girl being covered in blood, her sword had been wiped clean and Cersei saw the ripple of red in the steel. She knew that sword.  _It is Jaime’s sword._  The betrayal cut deep.

 

 _They say she looks like Lyanna_  a nagging voice inside her head taunted her.  _Rhaegar left everything for Lyanna._

 

She heard the men calling to the girl.  _Your Grace_  they called her. They flew the Targaryen banner and yet Cersei saw them bow before Arya Stark while the girl paid them no mind. The direwolf padded by her side but it was not the wolf they looked to. It was not the wolf they feared.  _My father did not let me wear armour_  Cersei remembered.  _I was not allowed to carry a sword_.

 

“Let me pass,” the voice called out again.

 

Cersei watched as the girl knelt by the fallen man. Her hopes were dashed when she realised it was not the prince. This man was far too old. She could not make out their words as they spoke. Arya lifted her head.

 

“Find the archer,” she barked out. “He was amongst you. Make sure there are no more.”

 

They hurried to carry out the command. Cersei did not hear the next words but the girl did not weep over the dying man. Suddenly Arya Stark raised her head and looked directly at Cersei. Cersei knew she did not look like a queen. Her hooded cloak and peasant garb disguised her and yet the girl did not move her gaze.

 

_She cannot know who I am._

 

It had been years since Cersei laid eyes on Arya Stark. She barely remembered what the girl looked like. This young woman could not possibly pick her out. Arya’s head dropped and Cersei thought the worst was over until she saw the direwolf watching her. It seemed to see her, to know her and it began to approach with fangs bared. Cersei took a step backwards and Qyburn urged her once again to leave.

 

 _The direwolf was meant to be dead_  Cersei remembered.  _I commanded it at the Trident._

 

A wolf  _had_  died and looking at the animal Cersei feared it knew what had been done. Just as she began to back away the direwolf returned to her mistress.

 

Cersei glanced back at the girl and saw she was no longer looking. She heard the command ring out behind her.

 

“Storm the Keep,” the female voice seemed to echo. “Find the false queen Cersei Lannister and bring her to be sentenced for her crimes. Find and confine Myrcella Baratheon to be questioned for her part. We will take the throne from the usurper.”

 

Cersei ran, following Qyburn’s directions. He led her back, down the serpentine steps and across a small courtyard. They passed through a long gallery, through a heavy door. Qyburn had her climb down a ladder in the cliff, promising a boat waited for her. She almost slipped and pushed away her fear.

 

 _I am a lioness. I am not afraid of anything_.

 

The climbed into a boat and Cersei did not look at Qyburn as a man rowed them out to a galley. They helped Cersei out of the rowboat but Cersei’s thoughts were elsewhere. She heard Maggy the Frog once again.

 

_"Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."_

 

Casterly Rock must be her refuge now. She did not want the Rock but it was all she had left.

 

 _Let them think they have their triumph_  she thought, seething as tears tried to well in her eyes.  _They will not have it long._

 

**Arya**

 

The already lowered drawbridge made entry into the Red Keep much easier than anticipated. Arya did not wait for Aegon. The men could not stand idle waiting for him while the castle lay open and waiting but she knew he would join them soon.

 

She used her knowledge of the Keep from her time there years earlier. It was little changed. She strode through the courtyard and the kitchens, negotiating her way through the small hall and another courtyard. The men within the Keep gave her little trouble. The army overwhelmed their numbers, her guards remained near and Nymeria shadowed her. The direwolf dripped blood and Arya feared she had been hurt but she still offered the protection Arya needed.

 

The drawbridge was down at Maegor’s Holdfast too and Arya saw that the guards were dead. She hesitated, wondering if it was a trap. Extra men awaited them when they reached the royal apartments. Arya had rushed ahead of the army and her guards became separated from her, fighting alongside the other men and trying to stop her being targeted.

 

It did not work. Arya found herself face to face with one of the Kingsguard. The man guarded the door to one of the Royal apartments. One of his brothers emerged from within the apartments. His visor was up and Arya saw the droopy eyes and rust-coloured whiskers she hated so much. She pictured the scene the day Syrio Forel died.

 

“You should have run,” she told him.

 

“Kingsguard do not run,” Ser Meryn replied.

 

Nymeria seemed to know what to do. She growled menacingly at the other man in white as Arya faced off against Ser Meryn.

 

“My dancing master did not run either.”

 

He gave her a look which reminded her of how cruel he was. Arya had only been learning to see the day he had killed Syrio, she knew much more now and she knew the type of man he was.

 

“That made it easier to kill him,” Ser Meryn replied. He dropped his visor. “I may not live through today but at least I will take you with me.”

 

Arya wished for a bravo blade, a weapon she was more used to but the valyrian steel, while larger than what she knew, was not so much heavier.

 

“I am armed with more than a stick,” she said quickly “and you are slow.”

 

He cursed and advanced on her, slashing with his sword. Arya danced away from him, quick as a snake. He became frustrated quickly but Arya could see. She might not see his eyes but she saw his movement through the restricted vision of her helm, Syrio had been right but it took her time to learn. She knew what Ser Meryn planned to do before he did it.

 

She landed blows herself, her sword denting the steel armour. Arya was sore. Her shield arm was worse, for sure, having absorbed so many blows but the day had taken its toll. She darted this way and that, listening for sounds to keep aware of other threats. She knew she was not armoured near so well as the knight but as long as he did not reach her it did not matter. Even tired she surpassed him in speed, especially as she was not encumbered by a shield.

 

They had been circling each other for a little when she heard Nymeria whimper and looked to see that the direwolf had been wounded. The kingsguard knight muttered curses, one amongst them being  _warg_  and Arya knew that her wolf had suffered for her blindness. She barely dodged the next blow from Ser Meryn.

 

_I should have waited for the others._

 

She wanted to go to Nymeria but when she tried the other knight joined her fight against Ser Meryn. Arya kept her wits about her, avoiding both swords. The second knight was less skilled than Ser Meryn but Arya did not underestimate him. She managed to inflict a blow in the joints of his armour and heard him cry in pain.

 

_I should use poison like Nym._

She had never used poison in combat such as this. It still would not work quickly enough, she knew. Nymeria whined again and Arya felt her panic try to rise. She tried to push it down.  _Fear cuts deeper than swords_. Her opponents pressed forward and Arya jabbed the second one in the knee and this time her sword cut true. He dropped to one knee and did not rise again.

 

When Arya turned back to Ser Meryn she saw new arrivals. Her guards had subdued most of their foes but a familiar form in black armour pushed his way through. The sight of him gave Arya courage and she landed a blow at Ser Meryn’s elbow, forcing him to drop his sword. Aegon lifted his visor as he drew up alongside her. His eyes looked tired but still bright.

 

_He does not know about Lord Connington._

 

Arya advanced on Ser Meryn and glanced over to see that other men held swords on the second Kingsguard knight. She heard them speaking of Myrcella and the door to the apartment opened. Arya paid it no mind.

 

“Lift your visor,” she demanded.

 

He took a step backwards but did not do as she asked. Arya stepped forward, holding her sword on him.

 

“I want to see your face before you die.”

 

_I have to see his eyes._

 

Aegon moved quickly and quietly. Somebody called out to him, calling him  _Your Grace_  but he ignored them. He yanked Ser Meryn’s helm off roughly. The man looked at her defiantly.

 

_He isn’t even sorry._

 

Nymeria whined once more and Arya turned away. The direwolf was trying to get up. She took a step then turned back to Ser Meryn, burying her sword in his throat. She yanked it back out, wanting to cry as she ran to Nymeria. She tried to enter the wolf but the pain drove her back.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

 

She looked over the injuries, they were mostly cuts but one leg was battered. Nymeria licked her hand. There was a lot of blood.  _I can stitch her up_  she thought hopefully. The wolf might harm somebody else but not her.  _She would never hurt me_. A small dose of one of her powders and the wolf slept. She tore strips of material to slow the bleeding.

 

When she turned to decide what to do next she heard the men speaking behind her.

 

“It isn’t her,” a voice said. “They played a ruse. The girl has the Lannister look but she is not Myrcella Baratheon.”

 

Aegon cursed. “What of Cersei?” he demanded.

 

“She is gone too Your Grace.”

 

Arya remembered the figure outside and shook her head. She suspected but suspicions were not enough.  _I will do no good telling them_. She rose and saw some of her men nearby. They baulked when she asked them to help her with Nymeria but they gave in when she insisted. She was about to leave to find the supplies she needed when she heard the question she dreaded.

 

“Where is Lord Connington?”

 

A silence fell. Arya could only imagine they kept the news from him thinking it best he find out after the battle. She walked over to his side and placed her hand on his arm. He looked at her hand and blinked. If he saw the blood he showed no sign of it. Arya saw his face contort before she said the words.

 

“Lord Connington fell just before we entered the Red Keep. His last words were the final commands to take the throne.”

 

Aegon did not weep. At first she wondered if he understood. He did not rage or question. He did not seek her embrace. When she tried to explain he cut her off. She wanted to comfort him but couldn’t. Nymeria needed her.

 

_Mayhaps I will go to him later._

Aegon left abruptly. He gave a curt command to the men to follow him to the Throne room. Arya knew then what he planned to do. She busied herself with her own concerns, finding what she needed to tend to Nymeria while she knew Aegon climbed the stairs to sit the Iron Throne for the first time.

 

When she finished her work she still doubted. The maester was little help. He feared both her and the wolf. Arya stopped the bleeding but time would show if Nymeria recovered. Until then she knew they were vulnerable. She thought on the day, on the faces of the people she saw. The wailing came back to her, the sound heard during the fighting of women and children inside their homes and Arya began to doubt.

 

The only name left on her list was Cersei. The death of Ser Meryn did not feel good, no matter that he needed to die. Cersei and Myrcella had escaped to add doubt to Aegon’s new reign. They had taken King’s Landing but it did not feel like triumph.

 

_What have we really won?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I had to go with Arya as the younger queen because with the AU I left myself no room for anything else (unless I brought Dany in sooner). I believe Dany is the younger queen in the books. It is really about what Cersei believes anyway in the end and I suppose it is plausible here even if Arya isn’t Queen of Westeros. Prophecies seem to be rather self fulfilling.  
> 


	81. Chapter 81

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes on this chapter... first up, I know little about tending to wounded animals (particularly wolves) so please forgive me. I kept a lot of the treatment vague to be safe. I’m also not entirely sure of a lot of the procedures and traditions in court and medieval times. I searched some of it and I keep trying to refer to chapters and maps but I may have erred in places. Some things such as timing of coronation are influenced by other factors (you will see as you read I hope). It was difficult with two Nymeria’s, read Nym=Nymeria Sand and Nymeria=direwolf  
> Some of the character names in this chapter are lesser used ones and I go into some historical stuff-if you get lost look up Faith Militant and Golden Company on the wiki pages. I have taken the scope of the Faith Militant actions further here though.  
> Thanks for the reviews, I do appreciate them and they can be very helpful in reminding me of things I mean to cover.

**Chapter 81**

Arya disliked the Red Keep even more than she expected. She had only barely finished tending to Nymeria when word reached her that her accommodations would be in the Maidenvault. Arya thought about arguing against it but she was so tired. She did not know where the idea came from. It did not sound like Aegon and the Blackfish shrugged when she asked him. He was hiding something.

 

“It is for the best Your Grace,” he said gently, looking serious.

 

“I did not stay there before,” she argued.

 

His expression darkened in a way she did not like. “You were a girl then,” he replied.

 

That was the first sign something was wrong. The next came when Arya said she wanted Nymeria with her. The men exchanged looks.

 

One of the Riverlands bannermen spoke up hesitantly. “The kennels are best suited Your Grace.”

 

This time Arya wasn’t having it. “I know what was done to Grey Wind,” she replied. “If I allow them to put her in the kennels somebody will kill her. She needs me. I will keep her away from other people. I will take care of her. You have my word.”

 

Only her closest men accompanied her to the Maidenvault. Lemore appeared to escort her and Arya knew then that appearances must be important. Although her wolf still slept, nobody looked relaxed about it. Arya knew that while her men appeared to accept her warging, they feared it too. They feared Nymeria. Arya saw their relief when the direwolf was safely closed away in the chambers.

 

Ser Brynden lingered but he dismissed all the others with the exception of Lemore. Arya wanted to ask questions but Nymeria Sand appeared before she had the chance. Nym swept her into an embrace, whispering quickly in her ear.

 

“We are never alone. Guard your tongue.”

 

Arya might have responded with a retort about knowing that lesson better than anybody else but the concern she saw on the faces around her stopped her.

  
“I heard about your wolf,” Nym said with no trace of a smile. “I do hope the man who did it is dead.”

 

Arya nodded. Between the wound Arya inflicted, an earlier bite from Nymeria and the arrival of Aegon’s men the Kingsguard knight did not stand a chance. He did not surrender and it sealed his doom. Arya did not even know his name.

 

“I will leave you for now,” the Blackfish told her. “I will be just down the corridor if I am needed.”

 

She watched him leave before moving to make her own retreat. Nym and Lemore followed Arya back into her chambers.

 

“You missed Aegon claiming the throne,” Nym said once they were inside. “He did not look comfortable but I must say it looks to be a very uncomfortable seat. He is still sitting it now while he hears reports. I left him to it expecting to see you but you have been rather delayed.”

 

Arya made her voice sound as normal as possible. “I had to tend to my wolf.” The direwolf made a whining noise and Arya checked her over. She stirred in her slumber but moved little.  _I thought her invincible. She protected me but I never thought to protect her._ The guilt gnawed at Arya once again as she turned away.

 

“Your maid will be on her way,” Lemore said quickly. “It is best if you prepare to retire soon.”

 

Arya looked down at herself. She still wore her ringmail and boiled leather though her sword and helm had been discarded. Blood stained most of her clothing. She glanced up at Lemore and read her expression.

 

_I cannot be seen like this._

 

She began removing her boots and ringmail. Soreness began to set in and Arya knew to expect worse on the morrow.

 

“Cersei became desperate in her last days here,” Lemore said in strained voice. “I think she would have done anything to discredit Aegon and his supporters.”

 

Nym spat in a most unladylike fashion and her eyes went to Arya’s as Arya removed the scarf she wore around her neck.  _Aegon marked me._  She managed to cover it during battle. It would be more difficult now.

 

“She is her father’s daughter,” Nym said distastefully. “Lannisters lie. They are capable of anything if they think it gains them an advantage.”

 

Lemore paused. “To say something of such a nature though,” she said softly. “Something so easily discredited without witnesses. The Faith should not be so quick to assume every woman is guilty of a crime. Cersei herself should know better after her walk.”

 

Arya stiffened and began to realise what had happened.

 

Nym laughed and if Arya did not have her training she would have believed the Dornishwoman was amused. “She did not even try to make it sound plausible. Fancy trying to claim the Northern Queen is some whore in our new King’s bed.”

 

Arya’s mouth went dry. She removed her boiled leather and stood before them in her tunic and breeches. “I have more gold than he does,” she retorted. “What payment am I supposed to have collected?”

 

The corner of Nym’s mouth lifted but her eyes held no mirth. “A crown.”

 

Arya snorted. “I asked for no crown and Aegon did not give it. My men bestowed it on me and my brother shall have it.”

 

Nym arched an eyebrow in what looked like true surprise. “The Faith has decided dear Lemore is not sufficient to ensure you remain virtuous. They wish to send one of their own septas as a chaperone.”

 

Lemore hastened to interject. “The Starks have a good reputation,” she said softly. “They have not said they intend to act against you. It is not certain they believe the rumour but it is best if they are not given cause to doubt.”

 

It began to make sense now. Arya understood her accommodations and the limitations on her company. It did not stop her feeling angry.  _I did nothing wrong. They are not even my gods._  She thought about arguing against it then remembered what she had heard of the city before the battle.  _If I oppose them it will not just be me who is punished._  She needed to think of Nymeria, her men and of Aegon.

 

_I will bide my time until I know more._

 

“They best not send a craven,” she said as the door opened and Cara entered with another maid, the two of them carrying water for a bath. “Nymeria will not be moved.”

 

Lady Nym smirked. “We can only hope for the best.”

 

*

 

Arya felt clean after her bath but no less tense. The Septa arrived just as Cara finished helping her into a shift and warm robe. The fire warmed the room somewhat but the chill remained. Arya pulled the robe up around her neck to cover the mark.

 

The woman was not at all as Arya expected. She was younger than most septas and fair, golden haired with big blue eyes and a look of false innocence about her. She smiled softly at Arya but the expression somehow still had a touch of wickedness about it.

 

“Your Grace,” she said in a sweet tone. “I saw you pass the sept. You looked as fierce as the Warrior himself.”

 

Arya fought not to bite her lip. She had the suspicion that the words held admiration but she did not understand why. The septa stepped forward and picked up a strand of Arya’s hair in her delicate looking fingers. Arya leapt back just as a knock came at her door and Nym and Lemore entered once more.

 

“You are not quite so fair as the Maiden for all this fuss,” the septa continued. “If there be truth to these rumours you must hold other charms.”

 

Arya made certain not to frown. She saw the septa look at her curiously. Nym looked as though she wanted to laugh.

 

“Will you introduce yourself Septa?” she asked.

 

“I am Septa Tyene,” the septa said primly.

 

Nym snorted and leaned close to whisper but Arya still heard it. “Using your real name is a risk sweet sister.”

 

The septa smiled and Arya was not quite sure whether to smile too now that she understood the joke.

 

_It is another Sand Snake. I will need to take extra care with this one._

 

“The High Septon had a mind to send one of his other septas,” Tyene said sweetly, “one of his most trusted few was to come but his High Holiness took ill and they are attending him instead now. I fear he is not long for the world.”

 

Arya looked into those big blue eyes and knew with certainty the High Septon was not merely  _ill_. She studied Tyene’s face.  _Did she do the poisoning?_  Arya thought it must be so. Poisoning a High Septon was serious.  _It is an act against the gods_  but Arya had heard much of the man and some of it was not good. The weighing of good and bad and method of killing reminded Arya of some of her targets from the House of Black and White.

 

_If I had not left them it might have been me._

 

She watched Nym and Tyene together. Nym looked happy. Her smile seemed more joyous than her normal playful and cheeky manner. It tugged away at Arya.  _Tyene is her sister._  Arya knew they were close. Nym had told her so. It made Arya long for her family too. It made her think of Rickon and Jon, so far away. Bran seemed closer even though he wasn’t. Most of all it made her think of Sansa.

 

_Wherever she is I wonder if she thinks of me._

 

Arya could not do anything to determine why the High Septon was targeted yet. If it was Tyene as she suspected she needed time to understand.  _Tyene is Aegon’s cousin too._ Nym had earned Arya’s trust though she still made Arya worry at times. Arya did not trust Tyene but there was little she could do right then. She needed the opportunity to watch and to learn. Arya needed to use her training to know those around her. She needed to learn more about the High Septon himself.

 

Her chambers were rather occupied. Cara stayed at her request as well as Lemore and Tyene who were required to stay. Nym lingered rather long, sitting on the other bed in the partitioned room and having cryptic conversations with the  _septa_  Tyene. Obara did not join them, a fact for which Arya felt grateful. Two Sand Snakes were quite enough for the moment.

 

Arya climbed into her over large bed with Cara and Lemore trying to decide what to do about watching the direwolf during the night. Nymeria lay on a rug on the floor. The decision was made for her when sleep took her. Her night became a series of wolf dreams, each filled with pain. She warged at night before but this felt different. When morning finally came, Lemore enticed her into the other part of the chambers with tea and some food to break her fast. Arya eyed Tyene and sniffed it suspiciously. Tyene smiled at her sweetly.

 

“Dear  _Lemore_  is the only person to touch it Your Grace. You are safe unless she wishes you harm.”

 

Arya saw it was the truth and drank the tea down. She refused to leave the Maidenvault, preferring to care for Nymeria. The direwolf whined when she saw her again and Arya saw she had pulled at her stiches. She frowned as she looked them over. They were crooked but they might have held well enough.  _I need to stay close to her while she heals._ Arya set to work fixing the stitches. She left while the wolf slept but she did not go far.

 

Arya remained in her quarters for two days. It was long enough to be sure that Nymeria would recover. Haldon stopped by on the first day and he helped fashion a better treatment to help the leg heal. Arya saw he was angry but he did not speak of it. He gave her advice to stop the wolf ripping her stitches.

 

“How is the King,” Arya asked hesitantly.

 

Haldon gave her an icy look and did not respond. Nym gave reports whenever she returned from court but all she shared were details on proceedings. Arya did know that Aegon did not suffer the scrutiny she did over the rumours Cersei spread. He met with those from the Faith over spiritual matters and matters regarding his rule.

 

The Blackfish was a little more forthcoming on his visits. They ate dinner together each night.

 

“The King destroyed much of his new chambers,” Ser Brynden told her after her first full day in the Maidenvault. He looked concerned and he spoke hesitantly, as though worried about Arya’s reaction. “He took his sword to everything with a lion or stag on it and many other things besides. I do not know how much of it has to do with the escape of Cersei Lannister and her daughter and how much is grief.”

 

Arya gripped her cup tightly in response and did not answer him.  _I cannot go to Aegon even if I wish it._  She worried to leave Nymeria yet and she also knew it would only cause more trouble. By the second night the Blackfish only told her scarce details of the King. Aegon held court and met with petitioners but he delayed on naming a new Hand. The Small Council contained vacant seats.

 

On the third day Arya dressed for court. She knew she must play her part. Breeches were fitting for much of the Red Keep but not court. Nym had told her so and Lemore did not deny it when Arya asked. She did not wish to attract unwanted attention and she did not want to bring shame. She sighed as she fiddled with her crown.

 

_I must be the queen today._

 

Gowns had been brought to her quarters and she fussed as Cara helped her dress. Arya had treated the mark on her neck and it was much faded but she knew her maid still saw it. Cara said nothing, merely dusting it with powder to cover. Arya gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and Cara gave her a soft smile as she placed the circlet on Arya’s head.

 

_We know each other’s secrets._

Arya still felt torn leaving the wolf. Nymeria had recovered little and would be limited in her ability to defend herself. She managed to urge the wolf to drink milk but she did not like to leave her unguarded. It was not until Lady Nym offered to keep watch that Arya truly relented.

 

“I must make sure no harm comes to my namesake,” Nym japed.

 

Arya allowed herself a genuine smile. Nym might jape but Arya knew the words were truth. She pulled a woollen cloak around her shoulders in an effort to keep warm and accepted the company of Lemore. Tyene was occupied elsewhere and Arya knew the presence of one septa would surely suffice.

 

_At least this one is my friend._

 

Arya did not  _feel_  as though Tyene wished her harm. Nym was close to her sister but Arya knew the Sand Snakes could be unpredictable. Tyene cared little about Arya being near Aegon, Arya had learned that. If the Faith wished to watch her, the eyes they sent were the wrong ones.

 

“You will hear me called Ashara,” Lemore confided as they walked.

 

Arya did not falter. She had not forgotten the emphasis Tyene put on the name. She knew from that moment the secret was out.

 

“How did the King take it?” she asked.

 

Lemore smiled wistfully. “I confessed the truth to him on the march from Harrenhal. He already knew. Lord Connington told him of it. I do not know when.”

 

“You knew the Dornish might recognise you,” Arya guessed, working out the timing.

 

Lemore nodded. They entered the Throne Room and found court well under way. Aegon sat on the Iron Throne with a face of stone. The Blackfish had a seat on his right and was speaking quietly in his ear. On his left sat the eunuch, Varys. Gorys Edoryen, the company paymaster of the Golden Company held another seat and Nym’s seat sat empty nearby the Blackfish. Arya knew there should be more seats.

 

Certain of her men were in attendance at court. They gathered around her offering greetings and told her they were pleased to see her. Arya knew she neglected her duties to them.  _It will not be for long_.  _I just need Nymeria to get better_. She spoke with them briefly and resolved to find time to meet with her bannermen soon.

 

She heard Lysono Maar before she saw him. “I wondered when we might see you,” he said in a whisper.

 

Arya did not make excuses. “You know where I have been,” she told him quietly.

 

“Aye, I do,” the spymaster responded. Arya saw him look darkly at Varys and understood immediately.

 

“It is not intended as a slight,” she said quickly. “I’m sure he is grateful for your service.”

 

Lysono gave her a bright smile and she saw he had a jewel put in one tooth to match those he wore in his ears. “I believe you mean that.”

 

“You know I do,” Arya retorted.

 

They stood together while Aegon spoke with men who had fought in the battle. Arya tried to study him discreetly. He was clean shaven and he had cut his hair. It looked rather more like when she first met him. He wore a black doublet with gold trim. It made him look very pale but Arya suspected part of that had nothing to do with his attire. He wore no crown but Arya knew that would come at his coronation.

 

He did not notice her at first. Arya knew he must be distracted. A large crowd gathered and Arya did not wish to be close to the front but it did not completely hide her. She wanted to observe and that was easier unnoticed. Once proceedings began nobody paid her any attention. Lysono spoke in her ear, telling her things she had missed. Aegon had knighted many of his unknighted supporters on the first day. It took up many hours. The dungeons were full to overflowing but Aegon refused to see the defeated foe yet.

 

“What of the archer outside the Red Keep?” Arya asked.

 

Lysono looked grim. “We found him. It was one of Black Balaq’s men. He claimed Connington slighted him. He said he would not stand for Connington to have the powers of a King.”

 

Arya bristled. “I want to speak with him. I will have the full truth.”

 

Lysono shook his head. “He is dead now.”

 

She felt dismay. “He may have lied.”

 

“You were not here. We will never know now.”

 

Arya chewed her lip briefly and watched as some of the petitioners knelt and swore allegiance. Lysono told her it had been a part of the previous day’s proceedings too. The next people to approach were merchants. They told of damage to the marketplaces and the wharves. Aegon turned to Gorys and there was a quiet exchange.

 

“The repairs will be made,” Aegon announced in an almost flat voice.

 

The merchants knelt and thanked him and were followed by Septons. Arya tensed.

 

“They come every day,” Lysono told her. “Tell me, do you know of the first Faith Militant uprising?”

 

Lemore had remained silent but she made what almost sounded like a hissing noise. “Not here.”

 

Arya had been watching those around her. Most seemed no more than what they appeared but a young girl watched too closely.

 

_She listens._

 

Arya made herself smile at the child and the girl darted away. A moment later a young boy took her place. They were unobtrusive, they blended in as servants but Arya knew spies when she saw them.

 

The crowd in the Hall thinned out with time and Arya knew when Aegon spotted her. His gaze lingered on her as a young man asked about the whereabouts of his father. She saw Aegon frown at her and his jaw tensed. Arya looked down at the gown self consciously and flushed against her will. Lemore put her hand on her arm and Arya raised her eyes. Varys spoke in Aegon’s ear and the King no longer looked at her.

 

“If your father served with the gold cloaks he is likely dead,” Aegon finally responded.

 

A wail pierced the air and Arya looked to see a woman fall to her knees. The young man rushed to her speaking quietly and Arya saw the resemblance.  _She is his mother_. Arya knew that meant the man who served with the gold cloaks was her husband. Something unpleasant began to twist in the pit of Arya’s stomach.

 

The next petitioner was Margaery Tyrell. She dipped into a low curtsey before the throne and begged pardons for her family.

 

“I pray for your mercy Your Grace,” she said with lowered lashes glittering with tears. “Cersei Lannister held me here as hostage to prevent my father raising his banners for you. My dearest brother Loras died in their wars. Willas and Garlan did not provide aid to them. I beg your forgiveness.”

 

The Lady Margaery made Arya feel like a girl playing at being a lady. She wore her gown as though she was born in it. Her curtsey was polished, her courtesies perfected. Arya could mimic them but it was not easy for her. It looked easy for Margaery. Margaery was beautiful and confident, ladylike and more womanly than Arya.

 

 _She reminds me of Sansa_  Arya thought with a pang. She supposed Sansa must be grown too. Often she pictured the girl she left in Kings Landing. There was a difference though. Sansa did not manipulate people the way the Lady Margaery was. Arya saw the flutter of the eyelashes, the curve of the lip that did not match the humble display. She looked to see Aegon’s reaction. His eyes were on Margaery Tyrell but he appeared almost to not see her properly.

 

“I will think on it my lady,” he said curtly.

 

The Lady Margaery thanked him for his wisdom and kindness and Arya watched her turn to join her minders. Their eyes met and Arya saw a challenge in the older woman’s eyes. She paid it no mind. Aegon was stepping down from the throne and the remaining people in the room dispersed quickly. Arya did the same, retreating to her chambers once more.

 

*

 

Arya learned much from that first session in court. She learned that the Maidenvault did not have as many listeners as much of the Red Keep as long as doors were opened to check for empty hallways. She learned that she must not stay in the Maidenvault all day. There were things to learn and she needed to find safe places to speak. She summoned men she trusted and assigned a watch for Nymeria.

 

A visit to the godswood accompanied by Tyene helped her discover one safe place. Lysono Maar found her there and resumed their conversation. He seemed to pay no mind to Tyene.

 

“The High Septon is immovable on many things,” he informed her. “He opposed Myrcella as queen because he believed her to be born of incest. He did not oppose Aegon but he also did not look eager to offer his blessing. Aegon might not be born of incest but his father was.”

 

Arya remained silent and let him continue. He pursed his full lips, gave his white gold hair a flick and kept speaking.

 

“The High Septon spoke of the realm needing to be cleansed. He wanted a new order, a renewal of the Faith to wash away the sins blighting the land.”

 

Arya began to understand why the man had taken ill. She glanced at Tyene.

 

“You he called a Northern infidel, a font of corruption practising dark arts.” Tyene’s expression remained serene as she clasped her soft hands together. “He said worse of Daenerys but I do not care much for Daenerys. Aegon on the other hand... he is blood. His reign cannot begin with bloodshed on religious grounds and I am afraid if he refused to add his seal it might have gone ill for him.”

 

Arya hesitated. “If he did add his seal what would have happened?”

 

Tyene looked at Arya with all her pretences dropped. “The red priest, Thoros, is in hiding. He must have help because they search for him. They seek Sandor Clegane too. He is wanted for crimes in the Riverlands. They believe he entered the city after the battle ended. One wonders whether he and the red priest are together.”

 

Arya heard Lysono snort and she suppressed her own laughter. The thought of Sandor and Thoros in the same room for any length of time was too funny. She took a deep breath and concentrated on the non amusing aspect of it.

 

“Sandor did plenty wrong but he committed no crimes in the Riverlands,” Arya protested.

 

Tyene gave her a measured look before changing the subject. “The Northern army is untouched because Aegon resisted his allies being treated with disrespect. It won him enmity after Harrenhal. A raven came to the Great Sept. The High Septon knew he sympathised with followers of the Old Gods.”

 

Arya tried to suppress her outrage. “I thought they were only wanting to protect the septons and septas in the country. I thought they wanted to defend them.”

 

Tyene nodded. “That is the role of most of the poor fellows. The Warrior’s Sons differ and the High Septon became more fanatical with time, especially upon hearing rumours that the new Queen might worship the Old Gods and of powers arising from those gods. He feared the influence of the religion on the new King.”

 

“I will not be Queen,” Arya protested.

 

Tyene waved one soft hand dismissively. “Our King has said the same. It mattered little.”

 

Arya thought a moment. “What will he do?” she asked quietly.

 

Tyene gave her a smile she did not like. “His Grace says the dragons are coming. Nobody will withstand dragons.”

 

*

 

Arya’s nights still hurt but Nymeria began to grow stronger. Arya fed the direwolf scraps of meat and tried to keep her subdued. The wolf needed to be confined until the stitches were removed.

 

_She will still be at risk even then._

Tyene’s talk of the dragons chilled Arya. Aegon never spoke of them as a weapon to her in the past apart from in jest. They were a symbol of his house and something to be feared for sure but Arya did not think he meant for them to be used to kill. His dreams and his reaction to them suggested he wanted the opposite.

 

Arya attended court with Nym and Tyene. Obara greeted them. Nym and Tyene always met with kisses. Arya could tell their bond with Obara was strong but the greeting was less warm. The session in court was shorter this time. The only matters discussed were damage to the city and the wolves lingering in the streets. They continued to feed on the remains of those men yet to be buried.

 

Arya tensed, waiting to hear what Aegon’s orders would be. He did not look at her.

 

“They do not fear men,” he said in a level voice. “If they threaten harm, kill them.”

 

Arya hastened after him when the throne room emptied. She heard Nym behind her trying to attract her attention but Arya ignored her. She saw Aegon in the covered gardens. He looked lost in thought and Arya began to approach him until she saw he was not alone.

 

“Your Grace,” a female voice greeted him.

 

Arya tried to fade into the shadows. Neither Lady Margaery nor Aegon noticed her.

 

“Lady Margaery,” Aegon replied, sounding almost amused. Arya saw him smile and Tyene’s grip tightened on her arm. Arya shook her off.

 

“It is most beautiful here even in winter,” Margaery said. “It must be a welcome change from war. I imagine you are an able commander but my brother Garlan says it is most weary work.”

 

Aegon nodded. “It is my lady,” he replied ”though I must tell you, while the garden looks beautiful, it still cannot quite make up for that smell.”

 

Margaery laughed and Arya breathed deeply when Aegon let her take his arm and walk with him. They stopped a few paces away and Arya tried not to scowl as they japed together and spoke of plants.  _Barely anything even grows_. She saw Margaery raise her hand to Aegon’s face.

 

“You must tell me the story of that scar one day Your Grace. I am sure it is one of great bravery.”

 

Arya’s anger and discomfort faded in an instant as Aegon pulled away from her abruptly. “I would prefer not to speak of it my lady,” he said curtly. “I must be getting to my meeting now.”

 

Margaery Tyrell looked confused and a little frustrated.  _Her family wanted her to marry Aegon_. Arya moved quickly, making sure Aegon did not see her. She waited until he was safely past before following him. Tyene’s footsteps echoed behind her and Arya saw her smiling when they reached the door to the room where the meetings were held.

 

The room fell silent and all eyes fixed on Arya when she stepped inside. Nym barely contained the delight in her expression but Ser Brynden looked concerned and Varys’ titter did not hide his unhappiness. Aegon cleared his throat, looked at her briefly then looked away.

 

“We are planning the King’s coronation,” Nym offered. “Gorys is working out the gold now as the Master of Coin.”

 

Arya looked at each person at the table. “Lysono is a good spymaster,” she said slowly. “I know Varys has helped but he also served when Robert was King. Do you know-“

 

Aegon cut her off. “Lord Varys made certain the drawbridges were down for us,” he said dismissively. “He aided me during many of the years Robert sat the throne. He is a friend.”

 

Arya studied the eunuch and saw him doing the same to her. He smiled at her but did not look amused.  _He was not my father’s friend._

 

“May I join you?” she asked.

 

Aegon did not look at her and excused himself, calling a recess to the meeting. Arya watched him leave and saw the way he held his shoulders.

 

_He avoids me._

 

Her uncle rose and she walked with him. “This was ill advised Arya,” he said quietly. “I cannot speak of it with you now but you must tread carefully with him. He needs time.” He paused. “Did you not say you must not keep from your wolf for long?”

 

Arya read his expression and nodded, hiding her hurt feelings. She excused herself and returned to her chambers. Nymeria’s guards looked pleased to see her. She politely dismissed them, tended to Nymeria and gathered furs so that she might be close to the wolf. Nymeria licked her hand and took the food she offered and Arya tried unsuccessfully to brush some of her matted fur.

 

Lemore and Nym found them together. Arya woke with a start when they entered. Arya cut off Nym’s explanations for Aegon. She had her own plans. She waited until she was certain she might get away. Nym still caught her but Arya needed to speak with her anyway.

 

“I need you to watch Nymeria,” Arya urged her.

 

The Sand Snake nodded and made no objection.  _She expected this_  Arya realised. She hurried through the Red Keep, keeping to the shadows and made her way into Maegor’s Holdfast. She used a disguise similar to that used before. The guards at the drawbridge took her for a servant and questioned her only briefly. She kept her eyes down.

 

It was not until she reached the Royal Apartments that she realised there was a problem. She knew the guard on the door and he would not be easily distracted or fooled for her to gain entry. She also did not wish to fool him. Arya stood in the shadows for a moment feeling indecisive before deciding to reveal herself.

 

Ser Brynden sighed. “I suppose I should be relieved you waited this long,” he said in a hushed voice. “You should not be here. It will do no good for either of you. Gods child, you truly are stubborn.”

 

Arya hesitated then stood her ground. “I have to speak with him Uncle. That is all I want. I only want to explain.”

 

Ser Brynden’s craggy features fell into a deep frown. “He says  _everybody_  lies,” he said finally.

 

The emphasis on the word  _everybody_ told Arya what she needed to know.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asked curiously. “It is not your role to guard him.”

 

Ser Brynden frowned. “He is fearful and trusts few people. He dismissed some of his guards. It appeared nobody might keep him safe and Varys whispers of threats. He cannot be harmed. I thought it best...”

 

Arya caught his hands and gave them a squeeze. There was a time when she made the same decision. She still remembered watching over Aegon in Storm’s End. Her uncle did not do it for the same reasons but it was still the right thing to do.

 

She stepped forward and made to move past the Blackfish. He looked as though he might try to stop her but she darted past and he did not hinder her.

 

“He sleeps,” Ser Brynden whispered behind her.

 

The room still displayed signs of destruction where Aegon had cut down banners and broken ornaments. The mess might have been cleared but the damage remained. Arya paid it no mind, walking quietly to the side of the bed. A clink of armour drew her attention and she saw her uncle had entered the room with her.

 

Arya glanced at him but his face had a stubborn look she knew well.  _He knows there must be a witness._

 

Arya tried to act as though it did not matter. Aegon still breathed deeply and evenly but he rolled onto his side. Arya perched on the edge of his bed and watched him. A strand of silver gold hair fell across his face and she reached out to brush it back. The Blackfish shifted and cleared his throat and Aegon’s hand shot out and caught her wrist. He blinked sleepily then his eyes narrowed.

 

“What are you doing here?” he hissed.

 

Arya’s temper flared and she pulled her hand back. “Did you expect Margaery Tyrell instead?”

 

Aegon barked out a harsh laugh. “She knows better than to be so reckless.” He let go of her and moved to sit. “She will keep finding her way into my company.” He gave her a sidelong look. “Does that bother you?”

 

Arya did not like his tone. It seemed the idea of it bothering her gave him some bitter enjoyment. She spotted the bandage on his hand and focused on that.

 

“You hurt yourself,” she said, feeling worried.

 

Aegon looked over the cuts in the walls. “It was dangerous work shredding all those sigils. Cersei does like to cover everything in lions.” His tone was bitter. “Why are you here?”

 

Arya faltered. “You are angry with me.” She misinterpreted his expression in the Throne Room as a reaction to her dressing for court.  _I thought he could see I don’t belong._ She now knew that was wrong.

 

Aegon looked sullen. He scowled at Ser Brynden. “You should not have let her pass.”

 

The Blackfish looked uncomfortable. “You know her as well as I do,” he said in what looked like an attempted jape by the strained smile. “Arya is difficult to stop if she has her mind made up.”

 

“I needed to speak with you,” Arya said defensively.

 

Aegon’s expression darkened. “Do you want to tell me more lies?”

 

“I never lied to you,” Arya said indignantly.

 

“Of course you didn’t,” Aegon said “you just omitted the truth. That is what you are good at.”

 

Arya tried to reach for him, to show him she was the same but he had no smile for her and he resisted her attempts to take his hand. She gave up.

 

“It was not my secret to tell,” she said softly. “Lord Connington made me promise.”

 

Aegon flinched when she spoke the name. “You said you would keep no secrets from me,” he complained. “If I had known he would not have been in command. He would not have been in the battle and he would still be alive.”

 

Arya remained silent.  _It is true_. She chewed her lip uncertainly thinking on it. “I knew him. He was my friend. He would have preferred death in battle to a second exile,” she argued. “He raised you. You know that of him too.”

 

Aegon’s face contorted, “He was not my father.” His voice sounded strained and Arya knew he held back emotion.

 

“He was,” Arya said quickly. “He was not your blood but he was your family. You are allowed to grieve for him.”

 

Aegon shook his head. “A King has no time for grief. There are things I must do.”

 

“What things?” Arya asked quickly.

 

Aegon closed his eyes. “I will do what has to be done to unite the realm once more.”

 

He looked determined but he also looked tired. Arya wanted to speak to him of the wolves and of the dragons but it was not the time. His anger ensured he would tell her little and listen to her less. She reached out to him and took hold of his injured hand. The bandaging covered whatever damage lay underneath but the way Aegon flinched told her the cut was deep. He only tolerated her touch a moment before pulling his hand free.

 

“Varys will know of your visit,” he said accusingly.

 

Arya sighed. “He might,” she admitted. “Be careful of him. Lord Connington did not trust him.”

 

Saying the name again was a mistake. Aegon reacted badly.

 

“You need to go,” he said in a harsh tone.

 

It hurt seeing the way he looked at her. “I will tell you more when you want me to,” she said as she rose from his bed. “You are angry now but you will realise there was no other way when you have thought on it.”

 

“Go,” he repeated again, sounding more broken than harsh this time.

 

Arya did as he asked. Ser Brynden stepped through the door first then beckoned for her to follow. She kept her composure until she stepped clear of the room then she slumped against the wall and put her face in her hands. Her uncle rested his hand on her shoulder.

 

“He hates me,” she whispered. She dropped her hands and looked up at her uncle’s face.

 

“No sweet one,” he said quietly, gently cupping her chin. “It would be much easier for him if that were so.”

 

“Will you stay close to him?” she said, trying not to sound desperate. “He doesn’t see people the way we do and they will take advantage of this, of how he is now.”

 

Ser Brynden nodded wearily. “I am not made for these games Arya. I am not made for this place.”

 

Arya gave him a quick kiss. “None of us are made for it,” she told him “but some of us learn.”

 


	82. Chapter 82

**Chapter 82**

 

Nym was waiting for Arya when she entered her chambers. Nymeria appeared to be waiting too and Arya darted forward, crouching to ruffle the direwolf’s fur and check her over.

 

How did he receive you?” Nym asked.

 

“You know how,” Arya replied. “He is angry with me and he blames me.”

 

Nym moved to sit on the bed. “He will not stay angry with you. He is angrier with Lord Connington but you are an easier target because Connington is no longer here.”

 

Arya did not look at her. “Did he tell you this?” she asked.

 

Nym laughed. “He does not need to. I know my cousin. I saw him after his knight died and I saw how he was when you lay injured. He suffers fits of passion. It is his Dornish blood.”

 

Arya finished fussing with the wolf and pulled her boots off to climb into bed.

 

“My uncle guarded his door,” she said slowly.

 

“Yes,” Nym replied. “Ser Brynden stepped into your place in your absence. Once Aegon determined he had no knowledge of the greyscale he took your uncle further into his confidence.” She paused a moment and rose to check for listeners. ”He thinks of the secret as a betrayal and that hurt him,” she said after a moment. “Between that and one of his own men being responsible for those arrows, there are few he trusts. Your uncle is one.”

 

Arya thought for a moment. “Aegon still hasn’t filled his Kingsguard or his small council.”

 

Nym sighed. “Yes. We have made suggestions to him but he only wants to govern. Even that does not bring him joy. He does not want to choose people to fill positions. I think he is afraid to make the wrong choice.” She gave Arya a calculating look. “The Blackfish wants to be sure Aegon lives long enough for him to find out if your uncle Edmure lives.”

 

Arya could not repress her scowl. “That is not true.”

 

Nym smirked and cocked her head. “It is partly true. I suppose the Ser Brynden knows there will be chaos if Aegon dies.” Her tone became teasing. “He also knows you will grieve.”

 

Arya snuggled into the bed. “You should not jape about these things. There have been attempts on his life.”

 

Nym pulled at the coverlet. “There may be more,” she said in a serious voice. “I will make him see sense. Varys whispers in his ear but Ser Brynden counsels wisely. I will steer him to the course he must take.” Her fingers brushed Arya’s messy hair out of the way. “If you have anything you wish for him to hear you must tell me.”

 

Arya looked into the Dornishwoman’s face but before she could say anything she heard the door and knew Tyene joined them. “I will not use a messenger,” was all she said. She turned her back to Nym and avoided looking at Tyene. Sleep took a long time to come.

 

*

 

She brought Nymeria with her to the solar the next morning. The direwolf walked on three legs and her movement was slow but she looked around alertly enough. Cara walked with them and when Arya arrived she found Lemore. She sat and wrote letters to Jon and Rickon, watching Nymeria lay by the fire.

 

To Rickon she wrote that the battle had been a success. It felt like a lie writing it. She told him of Nymeria’s injuries hoping it would not make him angrier. Her letter to Jon sounded upset no matter how much she thought on it.

 

_Dearest Jon,_

_I will return North. The South in not my place. Winterfell is my home. I belong there and I belong close to you and to Rickon. I will return and you will see me._

__

_Arya_

 

Lemore walked with her to the rookery while she left Nymeria with guards. From there she went to the Small Hall. Her Uncle arranged the use of it and her bannermen and closest advisors gathered there. She knew the Blackfish had been keeping them appeased but it was time. Arya could not remain unseen too long. They would understand her tending to the direwolf for a little time but they needed to see a Stark.

 

_They are Winterfell’s men._

She asked for reports and received them. Arya knew they would be overheard but she proceeded nonetheless. She heard of men lost in the battle and of the accommodations for the injured. Nobody seemed in a great hurry to immediately move from the city after time spent marching and in battle but they did grumble about the Faith Militant. Arya heard mutterings objecting to their notions and restrictions.  _They are angry on my behalf as well as their own._ The men avoided speaking of the septa installed in Arya’s chambers but she saw they were angry.

 

 _I do not disagree with them._  For a moment Arya thought of the many faced god and the teachings of the Kindly Man. She could imagine what he might say.  _They are all him of many faces._  Arya might not agree with him but she did think it stupid to be hating people or punishing them for the gods they kept.  _They did not do this in Braavos._

 

She thought of Aegon and wanted to frown. Her men did not ask the truth of the rumour. She knew some thought it a lie while others doubted. Arya did not want to speak of it.  _It is not wrong._  If she and Aegon had been other people, if Arya met him in a village and shared his bed nobody would care. Armies would not eye each other and septons would not shake their head upon hearing it.

 

_If I was a man nobody would judge me._

 

Discussion shifted onto the next move. Those from the Riverlands wanted their liege lord, Edmure Tully, freed from Casterly Rock if he still lived. The North men differed in their views. Some wanted to join the search for Cersei and Myrcella. They wanted the blood of the one who gave the orders, not just those who carried them out. Others saw their dethronement and Aegon’s ascension as going a long way to avenging the deaths of their kin and liege lords.

 

“Aegon sent out ravens offering a reward for the capture of the Ladies Cersei and Myrcella,” the Blackfish said with an unhappy expression.

 

_He does not know whether to pursue them or Uncle Edmure._

She told them she would think on the decision. She knew they must find out if her Uncle Edmure lived and if they went West, they might find Cersei too. They pressed her on obtaining information about the West from Aegon and eliciting formal agreements from him. Arya nodded and kept her face neutral though she felt less than certain.

 

_I must make Aegon hear me. He might be angry with me but we are still allies._

 

Arya ate with the men, trying to look as though her attention remained with them. It wasn’t though. She was partway through the meal when she warged into Nymeria. She wanted to know that the direwolf did not suffer for her absence. The pain felt less though it still hurt. Arya saw the wary guards remaining close but not too close and returned to the Small Hall.

 

Robett Glover looked concerned when she regained her senses. He questioned her with concern in his voice.

 

“I am well my lord,” she assured him.

 

Her connection with the direwolf had changed but she did not tell them that. Before Nymeria was hurt, Arya had limited control over her warging. It often just happened, especially at night. Sometimes it almost felt as though Nymeria sought her rather than the other way around though Arya knew that not to be true. With the time spent caring for her wolf, it now felt more deliberate. If Arya wanted to be the wolf, it seemed effortless to choose and to seek the other skin. She wondered if it might be the same with the raven but decided not to test it. The raven never felt right, Arya didn’t like how her feelings and thoughts became confused with Bran’s.

 

 _It is enough now._  As it was she felt Bran. He wanted her to return North. Arya felt it and the urge to do so grew more with each day.  _It is where I belong_. Not all of her men would agree. Many still wanted their vengeance. They felt robbed by Cersei’s escape and others wanted the rewards from their victory.

 

_They cannot see it was no true victory._

They agreed to help Aegon take the throne and that was done. Arya was angry about Cersei’s escape too but they had fulfilled their promise. She remembered her conversation with Aegon in Pinkmaiden.  _I worry more now than I did then_. She doubted what she should be doing before the march to King’s Landing. She doubted even more now.

 

_Cersei will die. Aegon will make certain of it._

She wished she knew what he was thinking. Before she left she needed to know he would be safe.  _I need to make peace with him_. Her men expected her to speak for them. They needed her to be their queen again and that meant getting through to Aegon.  _I need to be more than just a queen though_. Arya might not be his lover now but she would still be his friend.

 

_He once needed my friendship. I must trust that he knows he needs it still._

 

*

 

She did not have time to change her clothes before court but this time Arya had other matters to deal with. She had no interest in standing in court any longer just to watch.  _The more time I spend as an observer the more it looks like I did something wrong._ She could find out what happened afterwards. Her advisors had already seen her. She evaded the septas, retrieved an old cloak and a stick, discarded her crown and made her way out into the streets of the city.

 

Arya blended in quickly with the crowd. She leaned heavily on her stick as she walked and watched those around her, seeing the thin, haggard faces. In place of the gold cloaks were men wearing Targaryen colours and men wearing Dornish colours. Arya recognised many of the faces but they did not know her. She kept moving past them further into the city.

 

The people thought her to be one of them and took little notice of her. She listened to them noticing the differences in the scenes now to what she remembered as a girl. There were no baked tarts being wheeled about on carts now. A man offered hard loaves of bread for sale. The quality appeared poor and yet the price was very high. Some still lined up to buy it though most left without it. Others just looked at it longingly.

 

Arya limped to the man’s street stall and he looked her up and down. The face she wore was scarred and plain besides. He scowled at her.

 

“Be off with you. I’ll have no thieving.”

 

Arya fumbled in her pocket for coppers, making a show of seeming to have difficulty. If they knew she had coin it would make trouble and she did not want a scene. She would learn nothing. She placed an amount just short of the price in front of the man and saw him look undecided.

 

“You won’t be able to keep charging this much,” she told him. “Things will change.”

 

He spat in response and took the offered coins. Arya accepted the bread in exchange.

 

“It won’t make no difference to us,” he grumbled. “You are a little fool if you think different. The high lords will get their rewards alright but one King is much like another.”

 

An old man piped up alongside her. “That is not so. Things were better under King Robert than his sons. Things were better under King Aerys and this young man is his kin.”

 

The baker scoffed at that. “Do you think what his armies did was better than the whore Queen and her men? He does not even bestir himself from that castle to see the fruits of his labour.”

 

Arya could not deny the truth of the second statement. She wanted to defend Aegon but this man would care little for Aegon’s grief. The first thing he said bothered her. She tried to think of how to ask what he meant without sounding strange.  _I am meant to be one of them._

 

“The Queen brought this on us,” the old man said. “If she planned to flee there did not need to be war. Her men cannot have known. The gold cloaks surely did not. They weren’t likely to die for nothing.”

 

“They should not have died at all,” the baker snapped. “They are meant to defend the city not the cause of Kings and Queens. I can promise you my brother cared naught for the Lannister Queen but the soldiers don’t care none about that.”

 

Arya tensed. “Your brother died during the battle?”

 

The baker gave her a suspicious look. “Aye,” he said “Him and many more.” He darted a furtive glance behind her. “Be careful now. If they hear us we might get the treatment some got in the aftermath.”

 

Arya clutched her stick more tightly. “What do you mean?” she hissed.

 

He gave her a strange look. “Folks who lingered in the street did not fare well once the city fell into the hands of the army. They might have found a use for you. I take it you had a hiding place.”

 

Arya did not answer him.  _I was one of them._  She fumbled and put two more coppers in front of him. He looked at her in surprise and she began to walk away, leaning on her stick. When she knew he could no longer see her she tossed the loaf to two gaunt looking girls crouched in an alley. They looked stunned for a moment before other children joined them and a fight broke out.

 

Arya moved clear of them before she could be drawn into the fight.  _I cannot help them_  she realised. She began to walk towards nearby stables just to find a place to stop and think when she realised somebody watched her. He was stout, barefoot and wearing patched robes. Arya might have taken him for a begging brother but he showed too much interest in her. He looked away from her gaze but when Arya looked back at him again he inspected her still.

 

_He does not belong either._

 

Arya thought she might escape his scrutiny. She managed to limp to the stables but little time passed before he followed. She saw him approach and swung her stick out so that the end made enough contact with his chest to make him take a step back.

 

“Come no closer,” she warned.

 

His startled expression matched hers as she took in his features and recognised him.

 

“Varys.”

 

He looked at her searchingly before smiling to show a mouth full of seemingly rotten teeth. The smile did not meet his eyes.

 

“Lady Arya.”

 

Arya wanted to curse. She ignored his use of the different title. His recognition of her concerned her more. She did not know whether her glamour slipped or he saw through it. It did not work on everybody and Varys was clearly more than he seemed. His voice sounded deeper and he smelled terrible.  _I was not careful enough when I left the castle._  His little birds must have seen her leave.

 

“How did you know it was me?”

 

He moved sideways with his hands held up and Arya lowered her stick. Varys moved to lean against the wall of the stables.

 

“A mummer knows a mummer,” he said without hesitation “though your skill is exceptional. I might not have known if you were not your father’s daughter. You care too much about what is honourable.”

 

The comment about her father pleased Arya but she hid the feeling. “You listened to me.”

 

Varys nodded. “I did though the coin and the bread made me more certain. Aegon speaks of you often. I know of your past interaction with the smallfolk.”

 

 _He lies_  she thought.  _He became curious but I gave it away when he followed me in here._

 

What he said of Aegon made Arya feel hopeful. That she knew was truth. “Why are you here?” she asked. “You are meant to be in court with Aegon.”

 

Varys smiled another false smile. “I begged His Grace’s pardons. You evade my little birds and not for the first time. I knew you left the castle and after what happened years ago I was curious about how you blend in unnoticed. I think I understand now.”

 

 _You understand nothing_  she thought.  _I will not let you find me next time._

 

Talking of the past reminded Arya of her father. “I do not trust you,” she told him. “I have not forgotten my father. He died not far from here.”

 

Varys shook his head in apparent sadness. “That was a tragedy,” he said. “It was not meant to happen that way. I spoke with him in his cell. I convinced him to falsely confess his treason so that he might live.”

 

 _He looks like the one I saw by the dragon skulls, the wizard_ she realised. Arya was appalled. “You wanted my father dead.” She swung the stick so that it pressed against his windpipe. It would not take much and she could kill him. “You doomed him to die.”

 

She saw fear in Varys eyes and he quickly shook his head. He did not look to be lying. Arya pulled the stick back just enough to let him speak. “They agreed to let him take the black. Lord Eddard agreed in exchange for your sister remaining unharmed. Cersei had it all arranged until somebody spoke in Joffrey’s ear.”

 

Arya brandished her stick once more “Who?”

 

Arya must have shown something in her expression because Varys smiled thinly and this time his smile looked real. “I believe it was Petyr Baelish.” He put his hand on the end of her stick. “His Grace will be most displeased if you harm me.”

 

Arya lowered the stick. Varys spoke the truth but Petyr Baelish was in the Vale. Arya could do little about him now. She eyed Varys who looked rather more comfortable than she might have expected.  _Lord Connington did not trust him._  She thought of Nym’s narrowed eyes as she told of Varys whispering in Aegon’s ear.

 

“What do you  _want_  Varys?” she asked. “Why have you been scheming all these years to put Aegon on the throne?”

 

Varys sighed. “Nobody loves a spider. I want peace. I want the people to stop suffering. Aegon has suffered and he knows what it is like. He will not make the mistakes the others made. He will rule for the people, not himself. The innocents will not keep suffering.”

 

Arya felt a surge of worry.  _He expects too much_. Aegon had good intentions but he did not have patience.  _What will Varys do if Aegon is not what he thinks_? Aegon was good and he could be a good king but the words of the baker stayed with her and the threat of the Faith Militant hung over them.

 

_Aegon said nobody can withstand dragons. If Aegon does not bring war then Daenerys might instead._

 

“You do not know Aegon,” she told him.

 

The Eunuch looked at her in a way she did not like. “You mean well but you will bring war. I know of your killing. I know of your ideas of justice. I admit I feared your coming here with him but it seems your notions of loyalty have set him right.” Arya clenched her stick more tightly. She wanted to strike him but suspected that might be what he wanted. “You belong in the North my lady,” he said softly. “It is where your father wanted you. You need to return there and take your men with you.”

 

Arya fought to control her expression.

 

“I will want to speak to you again Lord Varys.”

 

Varys nodded sadly. “I expected nothing less.”

 

*

 

Arya made certain Varys did not follow her this time. The market square by the Gate of the Gods was where she found what she was looking for. It was deserted by people but the wolves remained. Arya stopped to look at them, unsure what to do next. They hunched over the remains still lying in the dirty snow, looking at her with golden eyes. They did not fear her but without Nymeria she was not sure they would heed her.

 

Some had already died.  _I lost men and wolves._  She stepped closer to them and they watched her still. They did not bare their fangs. Some even stepped closer, beginning to move around her. Arya kept her breathing even. There were still so many.

 

_I am a wolf. I am not afraid._

She began to relax when all they did was sniff at her before going back to what they were doing. She was still trying to decide what to do when she heard the horses. The ground crunched under men’s feet and Arya knew she was cornered.

 

“Get out of the way girl,” a voice called out. “The wolves are dangerous.”

 

Arya stood her ground. “They haven’t hurt anybody.”

 

“They will,” the voice responded. “Move out of the way. The King gave us orders.”

 

Arya screwed up her face and shook her head, giving the new glamour a moment to disappear before she tossed her hood back and turned to face them. Her heart sank when she saw that half were Dornish but she did not back down.

 

“I know the King’s orders,” she said as she looked at each of them and took in their weapons. More than one already had arrows notched in bows. “He said they were to be killed if they threaten harm. They are not threatening harm.”

 

One of the Dornishmen trained his bow on her and Arya heard a wolf snarl behind her.

 

“They are threatening harm now,” he said with a smile.

 

Arya took a deep breath. “I will do more than threaten if you do not put that bow down,” she retorted. She had her stick and her knives but knew if she had to use the knives all would be over. “Do you know who I am?”

 

One of the others pushed forward and began to utter a string of curses along with  _Queen Arya_. Arya recognised him as one of the Golden Company. He took hold of the Dornishman’s bow and called him a fool. Two more stepped forward and one of them fell to his knees.

 

“Forgive me Your Grace.”

 

The sellsword scowled and tried to pull him to his feet but the man kept muttering about how if the wolves didn’t rip out his entrails the King would surely gut him. The Dornishman who had held the bow on her gave her a wary look.

 

“What are you doing out here and why are you dressed like that?”

 

Arya met his gaze. “I do not have to answer your questions.” Silence lingered for a moment. “I know how you can make the wolves move on without killing them.”

 

She heard them muttering disbelievingly. The Dornish showed no interest in what she had to say but the men who had more knowledge of her beckoned her closer. They met halfway and although they appeared sceptical they agreed to try. Messengers hurried to the Red Keep and more men returned with carts. Her own men numbered heavily amongst them and Arya took a deep breath and hoped for the best.

 

*

 

Arya started when she heard his voice. She still felt tired after her time in the city. She had returned to her chambers afterwards to check on Nymeria then attended dinner with her men. A night’s sleep still had not stopped her feeling weary and she now sought refuge from those who watched her. Tyene did not care and she evaded Lemore. Now she thought herself alone but Aegon’s voice echoed in the cellar. His footsteps came closer until he drew level with her and Arya almost held her breath.

 

The torchlight shone across her face and shadows were cast on the walls. Aegon took a step back and cursed.

 

“What are you doing here Arya?” he whispered.

 

Arya blinked as her eyes adjusted. “I like it here. The skulls feel like old friends. It is the only place I do like here. I always wanted to see a dragon.”

 

Aegon looked at her for a moment before setting the torch in a sconce on the wall. Arya glanced back behind him and he shook his head.

 

“Nobody comes in here with me. It is  _my_ place. I intend to have the skulls moved but there have been other things to do first.” He did not scowl at her but he did not smile either. “Where are Lemore and Tyene?”

 

Arya  _did_  scowl. “I do not need a chaperone. I did not expect to see you so I did not think to need a witness. I do not need a witness regardless. I have done nothing wrong.”

 

Aegon flinched before his expression darkened. “Is that so?”

 

“I was not speaking of Lord Connington,” she said quickly. “You know that.”

 

He looked at her, his fingers curling and uncurling. He looked as though a war waged within him.

 

“Nym told me you wept after leaving my chambers. You do not weep.”

 

Arya bit her lip and did not know how to answer.  _I asked her not to be a messenger._

 

“Nym should not have told you that.”

 

Aegon sighed. “So it was a lie.” He looked very weary. “I gave you everything I had. Why did you do this to me?”

 

Arya felt her eyes sting and she blinked. The tears did not fall but her vision still blurred. She stepped forward not knowing what to expect and put her hand on his arm. He stiffened but he did not push her away. She removed it and wrung her hands together.

 

“I did not keep it from you to hurt you,” she said. “You needed him and if you knew they would make you send him away. I watched first to make sure he did not put you at risk. I promised him before I knew you but I did not keep the promise just for him. You know more of me than anyone Aegon. I am still the same. I am still-”

 

The words froze on her tongue.  _I am only to make peace. I need him to know he can trust me and no more_. The problem was she wanted more. She wanted him to look at her the way he did before the battle. Lord Connington’s words echoed in her head and she pushed them out.

 

_I need to reach him first. Then I can tell him what Connington said._

 

Aegon’s face softened for a heartbeat before he began to move away from her. He looked confused and he shook his head.

 

“I look like a fool,” he said bitterly. “How did I not see?”

 

Arya pursued him again, taking his hands in hers. “You are not a fool,” she said insistently. “He did not want you to see.”

 

His mouth set in a line and Arya let go of him. She turned back to the skulls, moving to the largest one.

 

“I will leave when Nymeria is able to move,” she said quietly as she ran her fingers over the bones. “I cannot stay here. I will not be kept in a cage and looked at like a criminal.”

 

Silence lingered before she heard Aegon’s boot scuff against the floor. His hand brushed her back and she felt his breath against her neck. “I do not think you a criminal,” he said hoarsely.

 

Arya traced the sharp tooth being careful not to cut her finger. “The Riverlands men want to go to the West,” she told him. “They wish to see for themselves if my Uncle Edmure still lives. Others want to find Cersei and others still want to go home.” Arya could not keep the longing from her voice as she thought of Winterfell.

 

She heard Aegon swallow hard. “I heard what you did with the wolves. You took a risk.”

 

Arya shook her head. “I took no risk with the wolves. They know me. They want food and they want Nymeria. They will stay where they can feed for now and the Kingswood will keep them away from people.”

 

“There are people who do not like the wolves feeding on the dead.”

 

Arya sighed. “If it is not the wolves it will be the carrion crows. Until they are buried it will not be helped. I did not want them killed for it.”  _They are Nymeria’s pack. That makes them mine._  “The market square is now cleared for the people to return and the gates can be repaired.”

 

“You always sound practical.”

 

Arya tensed, thinking of things she had done and said with him. Her finger slipped and she felt the sting as the sharp bone cut her.

 

“Not always,” she whispered, jerking her hand back.

 

Aegon moved quickly. She heard a rip and he spun her around and wrapped cloth over the finger. The blood seeped into it and Arya looked into his face as he held her hand tightly to stop the bleeding. He frowned as he kept the pressure on it. When he lifted the cloth to look he grimaced.

 

“You will have another scar.”

 

Arya shrugged. “Scars do not bother me.”

 

Aegon’s eyes met hers and she saw him flush. He kept hold of her hand and ripped a smaller strip off the cloth, wrapping it more tightly around her finger and knotting it to keep it in place.

 

“You will need to wash it,” he said softly. “That will hold it until you can clean it.” He paused. “You should stay until it heals.”

 

The excuse was a flimsy one.  _He wants me to stay but he will not ask._  Arya took a deep breath.

 

“The longer you shut me out of your meetings the more people think we did something wrong. I meant what I said. I stayed away because I needed to think, I needed to care for Nymeria and saw you did not want me near. I will not stay away because the Faith thinks I have the wrong religion to be in your bed.”

 

Aegon’s mouth fell open. He almost looked as though he wanted to smile but his eyes still showed doubt. “I almost forgot how blunt you are.”

 

Arya reached out to him again, pushing his hair out of his eyes with her uninjured hand. Her fingers brushed the scar he would not let Margaery touch. He leaned into the contact and closed his eyes. His hand rested over hers for just a moment before he moved away.

 

“It is a mummer’s farce having septas watch me,” she whispered. “The new High Septon need not fear me, whoever they choose. I will not seek your bed though it is not to please them. If it is not wrong for a man to lie with a woman then they cannot say  _I_  have committed a crime.”

 

Aegon shook his head and looked doubtful. “It is different for women.”

 

“It shouldn’t be,” Arya retorted. “I bedded you in secret because I did not want Daenerys to know. I did not want trouble for my family and I did not want conflict between your men and mine because they confuse us with another Stark and Targaryen. I never truly thought it wrong. If I had I would not have done it.”

 

“I am still angry with you,” Aegon said weakly. He did not look angry. He looked sad and a little lost. Arya resisted the urge to try to comfort him. She inspected her finger once more and he fussed briefly with the binding again. It was not necessary but she knew it was the only contact his pride would allow.

 

“I will help you until I leave if you let me,” she said hesitantly. So many things were on the tip of her tongue but she held them back. He needed to know things and she needed to ask him questions but it was not the time. “Even if you are angry you must know I want to help.”

 

“I know,” he said quickly. “Nym keeps telling me you should have a seat. Varys counsels against it and Ser Brynden says little but I know what he thinks. My men keep asking why I don’t use your skills.” He ran his hand through his hair and winced. His injury clearly still troubled him. “I will expect you later.”

 

He turned abruptly and strode from the cellar. Arya watched him leave and waited before leaving too. He might still be angry with her but Arya knew him. She had seen this from him before. He still cared for her even if he would not accept her affection.

 

_He will listen to me now._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I went with the idea that Varys did not mean for Ned to die. This assumes he told Tyrion the truth when he said Littlefinger whispered in Joffrey’s ear (GRRM pretty much confirmed this in an SSM).


	83. Chapter 83: Aegon

**Chapter 83: Aegon**

 

The first days after the battle ran together for Aegon. He felt betrayed and alone but most of all he felt angry. He sat on the throne carefully, not wanting to be one of those cut from the very first and seen as rejected. The faces watching him blurred together. As much as he did not want to think of him, Lord Connington’s teachings would not leave him. The same words kept repeating in his head.

 

_I am King now. I have to behave as a King._

 

That meant he could not weep. He could not drink his wounds away. He had a duty and the realm needed him. He gave the orders as needed though his patience wore thin and he suspected people thought him ill tempered. He met with the people and he knighted men and he attended meetings and tried to listen... and he stewed. He stewed on Lord Connington’s lies, he stewed on the demands of the Faith and he stewed on Arya most of all.

 

_She was meant to be better than all of them._

His anger got him through. At first he thought more people knew. One look at the Blackfish’s dark expression upon being told and he knew that was wrong. He soon discovered that Arya and Lord Connington were the only people certain to have lied to him. Nym swore she did not know and Aegon believed her because he had to believe.

 

His anger at the two people he trusted most fuelled him. When Varys told him of the rumours circulating his rage against Cersei and Myrcella grew. When he heard that the Faith would send a septa to Arya’s quarters he knew she would be angry and did not care. Varys advised him not to oppose them and Aegon did not have the fight in him to do so even if he wanted to.

 

_She did not think of me so I will not think of her either._

 

He shook his head remembering of when he learned the identity of the septa. Nym looked gleeful and Aegon had to admire his cousins’ resourcefulness even if their dishonesty provided further evidence that people could not be trusted. He wondered where the other Sand Snakes had hidden themselves. Obara was far less subtle. She came to him each day for the first three days after the battle with the same request.

 

“Let me take men to Oldtown Your Grace.”

 

She never smiled when she made the request. Aegon denied it each day. He could not send the men away again already. The ships had not arrived yet to assist in any attack on the Greyjoys. Ser Brynden told him he must address some of the problems in Kings Landing first and that was one thing he and Varys agreed upon. Obara did not take it well. Her nature differed vastly from that of her sisters and she did not hide her temper.

 

“The Faith might presume far less if you show them your might,” she snapped. “Take the Citadel back and next time they attempt to make demands you might remind them of your House words. They might not be so bold if they fear they have something more to lose.”

 

Aegon saw those around him look stunned. Varys tittered.

 

“I’m sure your cousin japes Your Grace,” the eunuch said in an amused voice. “No king in his right mind would even offer an empty threat to burn down the Citadel.”

 

_No king in his right mind._

 

Aegon knew the import of those words. “I am sure you are right Lord Varys,” he said, fixing a frown on Obara. “That is in poor taste Lady Obara. I have told you of my decision. If I have cause to reconsider I will inform you.”

 

Nym must have realised the damage Obara might cause as quickly as Aegon because as Obara bowed stiffly and took her leave Nym joined her and whispered into her sister’s ear. Obara shot a defiant look over her shoulder but left without causing a fuss and he did not see her on the following days. His thoughts became clearer though his anger did not noticeably abate. His focus became on the dragons. His dreams came less frequently and he chose not to let them frighten him.

 

_A King cannot fear dreams. My plans have not changed. I still need the dragons._

 

Dragons might be the solution. Aegon visited the sept in the Red Keep to light candles and pray and he spoke with the septons. The High Septon lay dying and the others would pick a replacement. Varys warned him that the new High Septon would not yield to him for long. The other had a reputation for being immovable and the Faith had become accustomed to enforcing their will.

 

_I will get through my coronation then I must make decisions._

He did not want to oppose them and he felt conflicted. Aegon was raised to believe in the Seven. Varys told him that he must meet their demands to prevent war. He said that Aegon must think of the people. Aegon wanted to ask him,  _what people?_  The people who worshipped other gods were people too, not just those who worshipped the Seven. Aegon lived amongst them in Essos.

 

He said none of it though. There were so many problems to deal with and he felt weary already. He did not like feeling cornered. It made him want to push back. Arya’s night visit had not helped. She showed no remorse and all she did was aggravate wounds that he did not have the luxury to let heal. He did not sleep after she left him. His mind was too troubled by what she said.

 

Her words continued to plague him during the following day. Between that, receiving reports of her escaping into the city, finding out that she had led the wolves away and Nym telling him that Arya sobbed into her pillow over him Aegon was not sure what to think. He did not feel he could forgive her betrayal yet when he saw her in the cellar his resolve weakened. She always sounded so certain, so sensible and it was so much easier to be angry with her when he did not see her or speak with her.

 

She had looked so desperate. The affection she offered had been difficult to refuse. He still felt angry over his weakness when she spoke of leaving.  _She is going to leave._  Aegon knew it with certainty but he did not feel ready to let go. He had not wanted to see her but the thought of not being able to see her if he wished still felt painful.

 

He now sat tensely at the head of the table waiting for her to arrive for the meeting. Varys kept speaking and Aegon tried to give him satisfactory answers. Nym entered looking beautiful as always. Gorys sat in his place shuffling papers and glancing at Nym admiringly as he always did. The Blackfish arrived before Arya and Aegon saw he looked tense too.

 

When the door opened again Aegon saw his own guards step through first looking pale as milk. He rose to see what the problem was. A score of Northmen were gathered outside and Aegon did not know whether to be irritated or simply confused. He heard Arya’s voice and she stepped out from amongst them with a familiar large shape by her side.

 

Varys sucked in his breath. “Your Grace the animal must not enter. You do not allow steel in your presence. This is no different.”

 

Aegon looked through the door at the direwolf. She stepped towards him not seeming to heed her mistress and whined.

 

“Stand aside,” he ordered the guards. “The wolf will not harm me.”

 

Nymeria looked at him with golden eyes and he saw Arya rest her hand protectively at the scruff of the wolf’s neck. The Northmen hovered as Arya stepped forward with the direwolf leading the way. Arya tried to call her back but she loped awkwardly to Aegon. He glanced at Arya as she hurried along behind her wolf and it was an effort not to smile until Nymeria growled at Varys.

Aegon felt guilty as Varys cringed back and the direwolf licked his hands. He almost forgot how intimidating she could appear, her size alone frightened most men. Aegon was used to that though, he took more notice of her limp and the wound along her side.  _I did not offer protection after the battle._  He ruffled her fur as he moved back to his seat and Nymeria followed him and settled on the floor nearby.

 

 _She has still recovered more than I expected._  He remembered Arya telling him of her intention to leave when the direwolf could move.  _It will not be long before that time comes to pass._

 

When Varys began to cautiously approach again Nymeria showed her teeth once more. It made Aegon feel apprehensive. The direwolf was wild but in the time he knew her she was not unnecessarily vicious. After Storm’s End she only acted in such a way on command or in response to threats. Aegon eyed Varys.

 

_Does she think him a threat to Arya?_

Varys had said after Nymeria was wounded during the battle that mayhaps it would be better if she died.  _One would almost think she knew._ The idea did not sit well with Aegon. It was true that her presence did cause problems. The people were frightened of her and it encouraged the rumours of sorcery but Aegon vividly remembered the day Nymeria saved his life and Arya revealed herself. The direwolf had protected him more than once. He told Varys no harm must come to the wolf.

 

_Varys smiled but he did not look happy._

Aegon had not stood his ground over many things over those first few days. The direwolf was one and he told himself it was about the wolf, not Arya. The other was the Faith applying pressure over the Northmen. The alliance between Aegon and the Northern kingdom gave him justification to refuse them. He would not and could not act against or banish his allies from Kings Landing. He felt thankful that Thoros hid himself. Aegon liked Thoros and he was not certain he could protect him if the red priest had been present.

 

_Varys would say he was a sacrifice for peace._

His thoughts were brought back to the present as Arya cleared her throat. “I hoped you would not object that I wanted Nymeria with me. She is getting sick of the Maidenvault and I like to know she is safe. I did not wish to leave her with the guards.”

 

Aegon looked at her properly. She wore the circlet which was rather telling of her frame of mind. She raised her chin rather defiantly and he tried not to look too long. She wore a gown of dark blue wool with a dark grey cloak around her shoulders. Her hair was styled too though not as elaborately as most at court. It hung loose at the back with strands from the front weaved into braids. He glanced at her hands and saw that she tried to disguise them. A new bandage covered her injured finger.

 

He nodded to her and suggested for her to sit at the other end of the table. She frowned but did not argue though Aegon saw her glance at the direwolf. She appeared to relax further when the Blackfish took the seat Varys vacated, the seat on Aegon’s right so that Nymeria was between the two of them. Varys moved to take the seat on Aegon’s left. The others settled into their places along the table. Gorys sat beside Ser Brynden and Nym was beside Varys.

 

When he looked at Arya again she sat very upright and alert. If he did not know better he might have taken her for one of the ladies in court. She told him often enough that she was not one of them.  _I am not a lady_  she would say. The only indicator of her discomfort was the way she held her hands. She saw him looking and quickly dropped them to her lap.

 

_She told me she does not have the hands of a lady._

 

He looked away and saw Nym smiling at him knowingly. He scowled at her for her impertinence.  _I can look at Arya without turning into a fool._  Her presence did not mean he was weak. He had not forgotten what she kept from him. He quickly tried to turn his mind to the things he needed to speak about in the meeting instead of remembering her in the cellar.

 

_I need to forget about the other times she wore a gown._

 

Gorys spoke first, telling him of the arrangements for the coronation. The choosing was underway.

 

“The sparrows will choose the replacement. It will be a man of a similar ilk to the last.”

 

Varys did not look bothered. “You will have their blessing, Your Grace.”

 

Nym laughed lightly. “They give you credit for bringing the Freys to justice for the Red Wedding Your Grace. It pleased them that you chose to treat the affront to all the laws of gods and men as a higher cause than immediately seeking the throne.”

 

Aegon did not look at Arya. If him getting the credit bothered her she did not let on.

 

“I am the rightful King,” Aegon responded. “They should have offered the blessing from the first. They have forgotten their role under the false rule of these usurpers.” He hesitated a moment. “I thought they might even expect more from me.”

 

“Oh they hope for more Your Grace,” Varys replied. “They still want the tree worshippers as they call them gone from the city.” He gave an apologetic acknowledgement in Arya’s direction but she did not respond. “They wish for you to give your men leave to join the Warriors Sons. They also speak of the house of the gods as crumbling.”

 

Aegon heard a noise and saw Arya frowning at him. Ser Brynden wore a dark expression too.

 

“I am not going to ask my allies to leave,” Aegon said firmly. “We spoke of this already.”

 

Arya’s expression softened and she looked to Varys. “What do they want done with the Great Sept my lord?” Her tone sounded brittle and Aegon remembered after a moment why it was so.  _Her father died there._

 

“They wish for a new place to worship,” Varys replied. “They say the Great Sept is tainted from the execution which took place there.”

 

Aegon heard Arya’s quick intake of breath. “Where do they want to build a new sept?”

 

“They will tear down the old and build something more modest on Visenya’s Hill. If His Grace were to send them some men and assist them in this...”

 

“Aegon is King,” Arya’s voice cut across. “He must not buy his blessing. A bought blessing is no blessing at all. The gods know the difference.”

 

Varys fell silent and Aegon looked around the table.

 

“I will decide about the sept after the coronation and not before,” he said. “The gold we have must be used sparingly.”

 

Gorys nodded approvingly. “This is true Your Grace.”

 

He did not like figures so well as other things but he knew from Gorys that he had little enough gold at this early stage in his reign.  _The Iron Bank must make the gold available_.

 

“The king promised men to the Night’s Watch first,” Arya said and Aegon heard the note of indignation in her voice. “If men are to be spared they must go there first.”

 

“I remember the promise,” Aegon said firmly. He fought the urge to sigh.

 

“The Faith might choose another claimant Your Grace,” Varys warned.

 

Ser Brynden intervened. “Which other claimant?” he asked in a quiet voice. “They will oppose Daenerys when she lands. Stannis is spent and tainted by his priestess.”

 

“I have heard enough,” Aegon said. “I made my decision. The coronation must be first.”

 

“Very good Your Grace,” Gorys replied respectfully and Aegon saw him marking something down on his parchment. “I will make the remaining arrangements.”

 

He got little respite. The subject changed to other repairs in the city and requests for lands and titles. Aegon listened for a while as the items to discuss were read out from a scroll. His focus wavered when Arya began to speak rapidly in a hushed voice with Nym before turning back to him.

 

“Should you not be making these decisions with a full council?”

 

“King Aegon has many cares,” Varys said “and finding people he might trust is one too many at the moment.”

 

It was a barb aimed at Arya and Aegon knew it. He knew Arya must have heard it for what it was but she did deign to answer. Aegon knew he looked indecisive. The problem was not that there were no men for the positions. The problem was too many options being presented and after the recent betrayal Aegon doubted his own judgement.

 

_It makes me look weak._

 

He turned to Varys. “I do not have so many cares that I cannot do what is needed my lord.”

 

Arya interjected once more. “If you are to discuss the effect of the battle on the city there is more to discuss than simple property damage.”

 

He looked at her sharply. “What do you speak of?”

 

“What do you know of the aftermath of the battle? What do you know of what our armies did?”

 

“I was with you and then I went to the throne room. I do not know what the men did during that time.” Aegon frowned at her when he realised what she might be suggesting. “I know well enough what soldiers do in wars. I have not forgotten my mother and Rhaenys. I gave no such orders.”

 

Silence hung for a moment and he saw discomfort on the faces of the people around the table.

 

“Mayhaps you might speak to the people,” Arya said softly. “There are things they think were done in your name and some love you not. They do not see you stir from here and they do not think you care.”

 

“I care about what happens to the people,” Aegon said defensively. He knew there was a risk during the battle but the loss he suffered blinded him. He did not want to admit to that. “I will ask after what you speak of. If there is cause for discipline it will be administered swiftly.”

 

He clenched his jaw as he thought on it. Nym began to get mutter too, objecting to the notion of Aegon being held responsible and she and Ser Brynden began to debate matters of honourable behaviour. Varys stood and cleared his throat.

 

“I must visit the privy Your Grace,” he said politely. “Do you wish to adjourn the meeting?”

 

Arya’s gaze met his and she gave the slightest shake of her head along with a subtle gesture of encouragement. She showed little expression but he did not need her to. Varys cleared his throat and Aegon ignored him. He looked at the others around the table.  _None of them wish to stop._

 

The meeting tired him already and Arya’s presence clearly emboldened both Nym and the Blackfish.  _Debate is what I need._  His advisors simpered to him before. They tread lightly for fear of offending him. Two days ago he might have stood and left the meeting but not now. He shook his head at Varys. Arya wore the smallest of smiles and he tried to ignore it. Varys excused himself, saying he would return.

 

Aegon turned to the Blackfish. “What do you advise about me seeing the city?”

 

“You will need good guards,” Ser Brynden replied. “You will need city guards too.”

 

Aegon wanted to groan. It all came back to choosing people.  _This never used to be so difficult._

 

Gorys and Arya became embroiled in a conversation about the Gold Cloaks and Aegon tensed once more. He sent out his own men to patrol the streets after the Gold Cloaks fought against him entering the city. Varys told him only the previous day that he must reinstate the gold cloaks with his own man in charge. By the sound of the discussion at the table the others agreed.

 

“I will choose somebody to lead them,” he told them.

 

Arya turned back to him. “About the small council,” she began.

 

“I need a Hand,” he said stiffly.

 

She looked momentarily startled before she nodded. “You don’t have to keep them,” she offered. “You can try somebody and see.”

 

He tuned out as Ser Brynden began to rattle off history and the Hands who had served. Lord Connington’s name came up hesitantly as one who served only briefly.

 

“Will you accept Ser?” he said, looking to the Blackfish.

 

The ageing knight looked grave but not shocked. “I am not one of your men,” he said at last. “This decision will not please them.”

 

Aegon set his jaw. “You have given me good counsel these past days and for weeks before that,” he insisted. “It was this or offer you a place in my Kingsguard but I expected you might baulk at that.”

 

Ser Brynden laughed but Arya remained still and silent. He wondered if she was unhappy.  _It will take family from her_. He steeled himself. Her wishes did not matter to him.  _Her wishes cannot matter_... except they did. He knew that they did when the Blackfish turned to Arya.

 

“I must find Edmure,” he told her.

 

“You can still do that,” Arya replied. “You have my leave.”

 

When Varys returned to the room it was settled. Nym looked as though she plotted something, Aegon knew not what. Arya and the Blackfish remained serious and Gorys looked relieved. The position would be temporary but it eased Aegon’s burden. Before he took the throne he had no notion of how  _much_  Lord Connington did for him. When he shared the news with Varys the eunuch looked pleased.

 

“Shall we discuss the other positions?”

 

Aegon relented to word being sent to Randyll Tarly to offer him the position of Master of Laws. The man was capable and Aegon knew he must offer something to those who changed allegiance. Maester Gormon would resume as Grand Maester. Aegon did not have grounds to execute him and only the Conclave had the power to replace him. The only position remaining, aside from the Kingsguard, was the Master of Ships.

 

“Asha Greyjoy knows more than any other,” Arya suggested.

 

“You cannot suggest a Greyjoy,” Nym said, appalled.

 

Aegon spoke almost at the same time. “A woman cannot be Master of Ships.”

 

It was him Arya rounded on. “Why not? Give me a reason why aside from her not having a cock.”

 

Varys tittered and Aegon flushed. “Her family are at war against us,” he said, trying to sound calm.

 

Arya narrowed her eyes. “Did she not fight with you all the way from the Twins? You saw no objection then. We still have her brother to ensure she does not betray you. You and she want the same outcome.”

 

Aegon could not find any more words. He thought quickly and looked around the table. Nym watched him warily and Arya had become expressionless but he suspected her annoyance had not faded. Dorne allowed women to hold high positions.  _I cannot object to a woman with two women at the table_. He also knew from conversations with Asha Greyjoy that Arya was not wrong.

 

“I will think on it,” he gritted out.

 

By the conclusion of the meeting he felt worn out and nobody looked particularly happy. Aegon decided on auditioning men for his Kingsguard. He had names in mind, warriors he knew were formidable but he did not know whether they might be suited. He trained in the yard each day as an escape, fighting with blunted weapons and with an audience. He knew their abilities.

 

_None of them are Duck._

 

He thought on it while having his dinner. When he took a walk afterwards he came across Margaery Tyrell once again. She did not seem to notice his desire to be alone with his thoughts. Her efforts were wasted. Aegon refused the offer to marry Margaery once and even if she was beautiful he had not changed his mind. Her wit, grace and charm made her pleasant enough company but she lacked something.

 

_She does not have Arya’s spark._

 

Aegon knew he would pardon the Tyrells.  _Margaery will return to her family_. It might not be all they hoped for but they were fortunate Aegon did not have them attainted as traitors. Margaery touched his arm lightly and smiled at him and he smiled back but he made an excuse to immediately part company with her. He watched her leave wondering how far she might go if she thought him considering her. He knew other ladies in the court, especially the Dornish, appeared rather willing to share his bed.

 

_Bedding Arya has caused me enough trouble._

He remembered Arya in the cellar, the way she had touched him. He remembered glancing at her when she rose at the end of the meeting. She reached across the table and her hair swung to the side revealing the line of her neck. The mark he left on her was gone but while he looked at her she turned and caught him. A slight flush rose to her cheeks but her expression, the raised brow and curve of her lip almost looked like a challenge.

 

_She does not rely on flattery._

 

He found himself wondering at the time if she would still be willing to share his bed then felt ashamed by his weakness. He had turned away quickly. Arya called to Nymeria and the direwolf pressed a wet nose at his hand once more before following her mistress. He saw by the way Arya held herself that she was still annoyed by his comment over Lady Asha.

 

_I am still angry with her too._

He seemed to be convincing himself less with each time he saw her. His thoughts of Arya were interrupted by Varys. The Master of Whisperers called on him often. He followed Varys into Maegor’s Holdfast.

“You must be less burdened after making so many decisions Your Grace,” Varys said pleasantly.

 

Aegon hesitated. “The work is not done yet my lord.”

 

Varys robes swished as he walked and he nodded amicably. “Lady Arya was of assistance to you.”

 

Aegon tried to determine his meaning. “The Northern Queen is entitled to attend,” he said slowly. “Her men have been important in assisting my cause and her continued absence would raise questions.”

 

Varys followed Aegon into his solar. “I quite agree Your Grace. Forgive me though, I only wonder if you realise what may come of it.”

 

Aegon began to feel irritated. He poured himself a goblet of wine and sat. The crown he was to wear lay on the table before him. Varys kept it safe and gave it to him after the battle. It was that which Maekar wore and Jaehaerys the second after him. His grandfather’s crown might have been given but Varys thought it a bad omen. Aegon looked at the black iron and gold and ran his finger over it avoiding the sharp points.

 

“Speak plainly,” he said abruptly.

 

“It is not only the possibility of Lady Arya’s presence in your bed that the Faith disapproves of,” the eunuch told him. “If anything they fear her influence. They are not the only ones. I hear whispers of discontent over her having your ear. There is talk of her use of dark magic.”

 

Aegon forced a laugh. “She does not use dark magic.” He did not know what it was but there was no  _dark_  art to it.

 

Varys smiled. “That may be so Your Grace but it does not remove fear that you might speak with her voice.”

 

It was all too much. Aegon set a cold gaze on Varys.

 

“You may go now my lord. I intend to retire soon.”

 

Varys bowed politely and retreated. Aegon drank his wine and stared at his crown. Part of him wanted to hurl it across the room but that would achieve little and tales had already spread of his temper since the battle. Instead he fiddled with the bandage covering the cut on his hand and stewed a little more. He had not spoken to Arya nor seen her for days. Even now they had only spoken in the cellar and within one meeting. It was one thing for Aegon to choose not to see her in his anger.

 

_I will not allow them to dictate to me, not on this._

 

Aegon scrawled on parchment and called one of his guards over to collect it. He gave instructions to have it delivered to the Maidenvault and retreated to his chambers to sleep. When morning came he did not know what was worse, the lingering feeling of resentment or the uncertainty. He did not receive a reply to his message.

 

The men awaited him in the training yard. He followed through on his plans and saw Nym watching him. Ser Daemon Sand accepted a white cloak. That decision was not so difficult. Daemon had served his uncles for years and Aegon met him when his cousin Arianne came to see him in Storm’s End. He was one of Dorne’s finest swords and Aegon knew he must trust that Daemon would uphold the oath.

 

_His hopes of marriage were dashed._

 

By the end of the training session Aegon named two more to the Kingsguard. It surprised him how many wanted the positions knowing what they must give up.  _They want the glory and prestige._  He dismissed them, telling them he would resume choosing on the morrow. Haldon walked with him telling him of ravens sent out and those received back. Few had come in as yet.

 

_It is early days._

He went through the motions of his other duties and supper time found him in his solar. Ser Daemon had taken up his post and was lingering unobtrusively. The hesitant knock came and Aegon felt a surge of disappointment when only Lemore entered. She curtsied gracefully before him.

“I do hope you are well Your Grace.”

 

The formality felt strange after all they had been through. Aegon beckoned to her and gathered his composure.

 

“Will you sit?”

 

She took a seat at his table and produced a piece of parchment.

 

“Queen Arya could not attend,” she said quietly. “She offers her apologies. I thought I might deliver them myself.”

 

Aegon took the parchment from her and urged her to help herself to the food on the table. He tried not to look too eager as he unrolled the parchment.

 

_Aegon,_

_I do not know what provoked you to take such a risk but after a visit from Varys I can guess. I wished to see you, truly I did but you must take more care. I know from my early lessons that King’s Landing is a dangerous place and no one is spared from those dangers._

_I must warn you. I have learned that there were hopes you might be a puppet. I know you better than to think you might let anybody use you in such a way. Be wary and remember what was said of who you might trust. I know you received good counsel on this prior to the battle. Do not let your anger make you blind to this._

_I know you will try to do what is right. I know you can be a good King. I may question you but I know you have honour. Do not let anybody take that from you._

_Arya_

 

The letter was lengthier and contained more than he had seen her write in some time. Aegon raised his head to look at Lemore and saw her pick up a goblet to drink. Her hand shook a little. That told him more than anything she might say. He might have asked her why she came with the letter given she did not have Arya to escort but he knew.

 

_Arya feared the letter might be read if entrusted to a messenger._

 

Aegon crumpled the parchment and tucked it away. He spoke with Lemore, hearing stories of her time in the Red Keep with his mother. He knew her real name but he found it difficult to use. Instead he kept to the one he knew better and she relaxed in his company. He told her of his decisions made and she smiled and cautiously patted his shoulder. The gesture was familiar though it never used to have to be cautious. When he told her of the appointment of members of his Kingsguard she smiled.

 

“I know of that,” she said. “Queen Arya heard of it and rushed down to the training yard. She and Ser Brynden might be testing them right now.”

 

Aegon knew what it meant.  _Arya wants to see if they are worthy._  He might have been angry but all he felt was relief. The knowledge that Arya might test not only their skill but their motives comforted him.  _This is what I needed her for_. Her ability to see into people was what was needed most right now.

 

When Lemore took her leave Aegon rose and quickly read the parchment once more. He knew not to be foolish and though it was difficult he walked to the hearth and dropped it into the embers. Once he felt certain no evidence remained he moved across the room and retrieved the item hidden away.

 

It had been brought to him not long after the royal apartments were searched following the battle. A scuffle broke out over it. Many fought to claim it for themselves otherwise he might not have seen it. Valyrian steel was hard to come by. He removed the wrappings, slid it from the scabbard and held the sword up to the light. The ripples in the steel flashed red. It was almost the twin to that which Arya held, almost identical save the pommel. The one Aegon held was shaped into a lion’s head with ruby eyes.

 

The decision of what to do with the sword was a difficult one. Aegon knew many still hoped he might offer it as a reward.  _They think the Starks only need one valyrian steel sword_. It was true that the Houses usually only kept one. Aegon looked at the sword torn between his residual anger, now feeling more hollow and fading, and the hope he felt from the words he read in her hand. He knew those words were not easy for her to write.

 

 _She believes I can do the right thing_.

 

It was one constant in all the time he knew her. Arya counselled him and supported him. She might question him but she always maintained her belief in him, even after the times they argued. He resented being judged whether they were distant or whether she spent time in his presence. His Aunt concerned him more than the Faith and the damage was likely already done there. The rumours would have spread.

 

_I will not avoid Arya and seem to confirm some guilt but she was right not to come._

Aegon sighed as he inspected the sword once more before sliding it back into the scabbard and wrapping it up again. He had made his decision about it. It was not the popular one but it was the right one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anybody says it I know Brynden Tully was not the best political choice as Hand. It is planned to be a temporary situation.


	84. Chapter 84

**Chapter 84**

 

Arya dreamed that Aegon was rather less than angry with her. He smiled brightly at her and laughed and when he embraced her and kissed her Arya felt it with all the intensity that came with dreams. She forgot the trouble it might cause and lost herself in his affection. He was not King and her hated crown was gone and it felt as though all the problems in the world had vanished. In the moment between sleeping and waking, when she felt him leaving her far too early she reached for him.

 

She woke to Cara’s ruffled dark blonde hair and startled brown eyes. Arya loosened her grip on the maid feeling torn between frustration, disappointment and embarrassment. She mumbled apologies but all Cara did was flush and fuss with the coverlets before rising to make sure that they might have everything they needed.

 

Arya was thankful Nym was not there. It was enough that she rose to Tyene’s knowing smile.  _She may tell Nym anyway_. Arya sighed and sat down to break her fast. It was the day of Aegon’s coronation. She wanted things to go well but she worried. His Kingsguard now only had two vacancies and Arya knew from speaking with them that they meant to do their duty. Still Arya knew there were threats out there that Kingsguard could not protect him from.

 

Cara had not long left them when Arya became aware of Tyene looking at her an expression which told Arya she wanted to ask something.

 

_I do not like that look._

 

“Do you truly trust your maid?”

 

Arya hid her anger at the question. “Cara is my friend,” she said. “She would never betray me.”

 

Arya knew it to be true. She knew from the first time the timid woman offered her a shaky smile.

 

Tyene smiled sweetly. “Never is a long time and friends are not always what you might think. With the right inducement-“

 

“No,” Arya said stubbornly. “I am not stupid. Cara does not think like that. You might be better worrying about Nym.”

 

The slightest shadow darkened Tyene’s expression. “You know where she is.”

 

Arya nodded. The Fowler twins came to Kings Landing with the Dornish army. Nymeria Sand spent quite a deal of time in their company. Arya tried not to worry about the way Nym looked when she returned from seeing them.

 

_It does not mean she tells them anything._

 

Tyene said no more and Arya dressed to blend in. She did not plan to be amongst Aegon’s supporters during the coronation and blessing itself. That would draw too much attention but she wanted to watch and she wanted to see as Aegon rode through the streets. She passed the guards disguised as a servant and watched carefully this time to be certain she was not followed.  _Varys should have more important things to worry about than me._

 

Little time passed before she saw the procession headed for Visenya’s Hill. Arya knew that Aegon was to receive the blessing before the crumbling Great Sept of Baelor. She darted quick as a snake amongst the people making sure to behave in line with her disguise. She made sure she appeared meek as she made her way past the guards in the plaza, glancing at each one to see if they harboured any ill intent.

 

The crowd gathered in the plaza was large and reminded Arya of another day.  _I must not think of that now_. She tried to focus instead on Aegon. From the place she chose, so similar to that years earlier she saw him kneel. The High Septon seemed solemn and he spoke at length of suffering and duty and defending the people before he gave the blessing. Arya heard it but she barely saw it. She did see the guards close to him and the Warrior’s Sons formed up. She watched them and the crowd instead.

 

Aegon rode back through the streets of the city when they were done. When the horses drew closer she saw him wearing the crown his great-grandfather wore. The people cheered him when he passed and Arya felt disquieted. She had not forgotten the unrest and knew that the reception Aegon received now was not a true one.

 

_If he disappoints them they will turn on him._

 

Aegon did make a striking figure though. He waved as he passed and his smile looked genuine. He wore red and black once more, no doubt trying to distinguish himself from the Lannisters. Arya knew his course did not include the poorer areas of the city where the people suffered the most.

 

She watched his slow progress and took note of how vigilant his guards were. The white cloaks gathered around him in force and Arya saw them keeping close. The guard was twofold, the white knights riding closest and other loyal men riding as a second barrier from the crowd. Arya scanned the faces of the guards first looking for anybody out of place.

 

She had already gone through the same process when the guard was chosen the previous day but she wanted to be certain. When she was done she turned her attention to the crowd once more, trying to keep pace with the procession and avoid grabby hands. Some faces barely hid their unhappiness but none posed real harm. Arya tensed when one man threw something rotten but it fell harmlessly under the hooves of the horses. She almost held her breath but Aegon did not react.

 

_I warned him about this._

Aegon received the warning the same way he received everything she said now. His guard was up and he gave short answers. He softened a little when he thought no one watched, just enough to let her knew her letter must have touched him. Arya restrained herself still. She spoke her mind and Aegon enforced his rule but he listened first before making his decision

 

_It still isn’t the same as talking with him alone. I cannot truly speak freely._

 

They agreed he needed to keep calm if he met with unrest.  _The city has had enough of suffering the wroth of Kings and Queens._  Arya heard Aegon say something about food when another projectile dropped in his path and she tensed once more. The cheering grew louder and the crowd pressed closer. The guards had to clear the way for Aegon to proceed but the risk passed. Arya breathed a sigh of relief.

 

_Magister Illyrio better be able to deliver on his promises._

 

The Magister was on his way to Kings Landing from Pentos. Aegon spoke well of the man and Arya knew the magister sheltered Aegon as a boy.  _He still sends him gifts now_. Arya might not have worried so much if Varys did not look so pleased.  _They are friends_  she told herself  _that is all._  She must hope Illyrio Mopatis truly intended to help Aegon.

 

The procession began to wind its way back to the Red Keep and Arya followed. She still did not know Varys plan. He spoke with her,  _warned_  her and Arya knew he mistook her intentions.  _He thinks I might start a war_. Varys seemed to really want peace for the realm but Arya worried about his methods and worried about what it meant for Aegon, Aegon was far more restless than she was. He was more impatient over the enemies still out there.

 

_I have seen enough of the result of war._

 

That did not mean she would not punish those when justice required it. If Cersei stood before her now she knew she would not stay her hand. The other battles were not hers though the thought of Aegon marching to war without her made her feel something unpleasant. Her Uncle Edmure must be recovered if he lived, Arya knew that.  _He is my mother’s brother._  She wondered if they looked at all alike.

 

The time would come very soon for Arya to leave. Nymeria walked more easily with each day and Arya would not stay on the pretext of her injured finger. They would ride for Casterly Rock and once they determined if her Uncle lived, once they retrieved him if he lived, she could go to Winterfell. The Blackfish offered that she might separate her men into two groups and ride on ahead to Winterfell while he led men West but Arya felt she owed it to her mother to go with him.

 

Aegon clenched his jaw whenever mention was made of the West.  _He will send men but he should remain behind_. The same advice was given by all but Aegon wanted to lead the army. Arya did not know where the greater danger lay. Kings Landing was full of threats but after what happened to Lord Connington Arya knew that Aegon’s safety was not certain even within his own army.

 

_He must not look as though he abandons the city already._

Arya waited until Aegon was safely within the Red Keep before entering it herself. She ducked into empty chambers and shed her disguise. When Nym met her at the door she pretended that nothing was out of the ordinary. Nym laughed and retrieved a silken handkerchief. Arya made herself remain still while Nym wiped at her face.

 

“I looked for you,” she said in an amused voice.

 

“You found me,” Arya replied.

 

Nym smiled and wiped a little harder. “You know that is not what I mean.” She retreated with the handkerchief and Arya stood still for inspection. “I think I got all the dirt anybody might see.”

 

Arya looked down at herself. Her boots were filthy but she could do nothing about it.  _Nobody will look at my feet._  Nym offered her arm but Arya shook her head. The dornishwoman had dressed for the celebrations already.

 

“I will ruin your gown.”

 

“It is past time you put your own on. Anybody might think you did not want this.”

 

Arya sighed and made her way to the Maidenvault. Cara waited for her with a gown ready. She offered Arya a smile. Arya tried to dress herself but Cara insisted on helping, She finished with Arya’s hair and fetched a looking glass. Arya looked into it and saw her long face and dark grey eyes.  _The same as Jon’s_  she thought with a pang. It was enough to make her want to stay in her chambers or better yet, ride straight for the North. Gowns and dinners and dancing were not her but her men wanted to celebrate and she must be there.

 

Gowns did have a place she had to admit. They were no good for riding or running or fighting but she had learned in Braavos to blend in. Arya could wear her breeches to most things but people watched her even more when she did that. She stood out and her movements were watched by all. In a gown, when she gave herself a new name in her head and pretended at being a lady people let their guard down.

 

She took her seat in the Grand Hall. People immediately came to speak with her, both her men and Aegon’s. Randyll Tarly gave her a dark look but she paid that no mind. Lord Randyll did not like women in the Council Chambers. The exchanges between him and both Asha Greyjoy and the Lady Nym had been less than helpful. Arya spoke out too but Asha was most vocal and very blunt.

 

_She takes her appointment seriously._

Arya was not there when Aegon made the offer to the Lady Asha but she saw her when she entered her first meeting. Asha held herself with pride and sat straight down to establish her value.  _She really does know the most about ships and the water._  Arya wondered what it had been like being groomed as her father’s heir with Theon living at Winterfell.

_I would not have wanted it, not if it meant my brother was held captive._

 

The thought of freedom did sound appealing though.  _Asha has travelled and had adventures and it was not because she had nowhere else to go._ Arya’s thoughts were interrupted when the announcement came for the King to enter. He smiled for them as he crossed the Hall, speaking to people as he went. He stopped before her and Arya stood to greet him. There was a moment of silence between them and she saw him look at her hands.

“It seems strange seeing you wear a gown like this. It does not quite fit you.”

 

The words stung and Arya bristled before regaining her composure. “That is unkind.”

 

Aegon flushed. “You mistake my meaning. I only meant to say I think you more at ease in your usual dress.”

 

Ser Daemon Sand stood beside the King. He took one look at the expression Arya could not hide and gave her an almost indecent smile.

 

“Your Grace they are waiting for you,” he said and Arya knew which of them he spoke to. “There are others to speak with and gifts to receive and I believe this lovely lady might make my job of protecting you more difficult if you speak to her anymore.”

 

Aegon lingered a moment looking as though he wished to speak again. He grimaced and Arya looked away from him.  _He knows how I feel about this_. She took a deep breath.  _Calm as still water._  Her scarred and roughened hands were difficult to hide. She clasped them together and looked around as Aegon moved on and she took her seat again.

 

_Other people do not think me out of place._

She tried to forget but Aegon’s words hurt.  _I did not expect it from him._  She paid the minimum attention as he accepted his gifts. When dinner was served she focused on eating her food though she kept aware of those around her. Nym came to join her between courses but did not stay long.  _She has her own duties._ The dinner was not extravagant and soon gave way to dancing. Arya rose and made excuses to watch the interactions but her time as an observer was brief. Soon she was coaxed into the dance.

 

Her first partners were her own men and Arya laughed and japed with them as they took their turn around the floor. It was not unpleasant. She even received a compliment on her dancing though she had to check to see they were not teasing. When she began to dance with others it became less comfortable but useful. Some of her partners told her things Aegon held back, others told of squabbles over claims and valuable items from the battle. One grumbled about a sword taken from him.

 

_If they think I will speak for them they do not know me well._

She almost lost her composure when the time came to change partners and Aegon stood before her. Before she could decide what might be best, whether to excuse herself, Aegon set his mouth in a line and took her in his arms. Arya yielded to him but she knew she must look unhappy.

 

“We are only dancing,” he said defensively.

 

Arya hesitated. “It would look odd if I refused you.”

 

Aegon frowned. “About what I said before, I did not mean to anger you. I just wondered- Did you choose that gown?”

 

Arya looked down at the gown, trying not to lose her footing. Aegon slowed for a moment and the gentle way he held her reminded Arya that this was not their first dance. She looked up at him and caught him gazing at her intensely with a strange look on his face.

 

“Cara chose it. I almost ran late. Is there something wrong with it?”

 

Aegon flushed and shook his head. His grip at her waist tightened a little. “No.”

 

Arya had had enough. “Tell me what the problem is,” she hissed. “I need to know if I look a fool. You know I do not belong here.”

 

“You carry it off as well as you do with everything else,” he said quickly. “Nobody might know you do not wish this.”

 

Arya calmed a little at his reassurance. “What is it then?”

 

Aegon looked for a moment as thought he might not answer. “It makes me think of another gown I saw once,” he said softly with a trace of a smile.

 

Arya thought back at the other gowns she had worn and felt her colour rise remembering the gown he spoke of. She quickly looked to be sure nobody heard.  _He is thinking of the first time he bedded me_. Arya remembered it wistfully. It seemed so long ago now. She now knew Aegon was a little clumsy then, nervous and only a little more experienced than her even though he did look after her. She thought of her dream and glanced at him relieved he could not read her thoughts. His expression had changed and he began to look strained.

 

“I must speak with you,” he said, almost under his breath.

 

Arya inclined her head a little, just enough to signal she heard him. They only had a moment, soon she would have to change partners.

 

Aegon’s gaze went to her injured finger. “You will need to be more careful.”

 

Arya frowned. “It may give me trouble on the morrow,” she said quietly, hoping he knew she did not speak of the finger. “The following day I have less of a burden.”

 

They parted soon after that. Her next partner was Randyll Tarly. Arya did not know why he danced. He clearly did not enjoy it. He looked as unhappy as Arya felt though she wondered if her presence might be the cause.

 

“You dress as a woman should for once,” he said in a hard voice.

 

Arya chose not to be offended. It was not unexpected. Lord Randyll thought it past time she married and returned to Winterfell. He thought her marching with armies was inviting rape and dishonour.  _He will dispense justice_ , she reminded herself. Aegon charged Lord Randyll with tracking down those who harmed the people after the battle. Lord Randyll planned to try them in the marketplace by the Gate of the Gods.

 

_It will not be as it was with Bella._

 

Arya now knew the story, or as much as she was likely to find out. Aegon begrudgingly answered her in one of the meetings, offering his suspicion that Lord Connington was responsible. Arya felt foolish that she did not suspect him sooner.  _I knew his history with Robert Baratheon._ It also explained in part why Aegon behaved as he did when Arya confronted him over it.

 

_He thought of her only as a whore._

 

The idea bothered Arya but the impulse to protect his friend was one Arya understood. Lord Connington was family to Aegon whether he would admit it now or not. There was no such notion over the men who harmed people in the streets after the battle. Arya heard excuses about their blood being up, that these things happened in battle but she would not budge. Reminders of the Sack of Kings Landing helped make her point though the victims being of low birth seemed of more importance to the men than she thought right. It was only after Varys interceded that moves were truly made.

 

“The people will not love you if you do not act Your Grace. An unpopular King might not keep his throne for long.”

 

Those words spurred Aegon on and removed the last of his indecision. The new Master of Laws seemed suited to the task. There was just one concern.  _It requires the people to come forward and name those who caused harm._  Arya knew they were frightened and the man in front of her now did little to dispel those fears. Lord Randyll fully intended to dispense justice but the people did not know him. Arya only knew because knowing people and learning them was in her training.

Lord Randyll spent their entire dance pressing her to move on. Her response that she planned to leave did not satisfy him. She excused herself as soon as she could and left the Grand Hall. She quickly found herself in the gardens. They were dimly lit with torches but Arya had no trouble finding her way. She did not need light. She found a place to sit but was not alone for long.

 

“May I join you?”

 

Arya recognised the voice. “You may my lady.”

 

Margaery Tyrell sat, looking pensive in the flickering torchlight. “I leave for Highgarden very soon.”

 

Arya nodded. She already knew. “I hope you have a safe journey.”

 

Lady Margaery smiled and arranged her skirts. “I believe you mean that.”

 

Arya paused a moment. ”I have no quarrel with you.”

 

Margaery sighed. “I suppose you know I knew your sister. At one point she and I might have been sisters.”

 

Arya stiffened. _Sansa would want a sister like Margaery._ “The Lannisters married her to the Imp.”

 

Margaery looked uncomfortable. “Sansa wanted to marry Willas. They found out before we could take her from here.”

 

Arya arranged her own skirts. “I am not my sister my lady. I do not believe in the songs and I know how betrothals work. I will not be fooled into thinking your family meant it purely as a kindness.”

 

Margaery smiled again but this time it was tinged with bitterness. “It would have been a kinder fate that what she got I can assure you of that. We meant no harm. A woman has her duties to her family. I know that well. Mine will have another match in mind.”

 

Arya felt a sudden surge of pity. “Can you not say no?” she asked.

 

Margaery laughed and put her hand on Arya’s arm. “Grandmother is not one to refuse.” She let go of Arya but she still looked amused. “It will not be so bad.” She gave Arya a long look. “I was once told I might look like your Aunt.”

 

Arya did not know what to say. “You don’t.”

 

Margaery nodded solemnly. “So I have heard. You are the one to carry that- I don’t know whether to call it a blessing or a curse. It seems to appeal to Kings.”

 

Arya made herself refrain from biting her lip and she did not answer. Margaery simply kept on speaking.

 

“Grandmother will ask why I could not attract Aegon’s interest. He was charming enough and gave me some attention but another has too much of a hold on him.”

 

“He is not free to marry,” Arya said quickly. “There is another.”

 

Margaery looked amused once more. “I have heard. He might have kept me here as a hostage but he is kind enough to let me leave.”

 

Arya knew he committed a mistake. “Your family must remain loyal.”

 

Margaery smiled sweetly. “As yours is? Never fear Your Grace. There are no plans to rebel. In fact I wondered about visiting the North when you depart for Winterfell.”

 

Arya hesitated. “The North might not suit you,” she said slowly before realising the older woman’s intent. Her eyes narrowed. “Rickon is too young and he will choose his wife.”

 

Margaery was not deterred. “The alliance would benefit the North and Aegon. The Reach still has food. Highgarden is a good friend and we might be sisters just as Sansa and I might have been once.”

 

_They want a crown. They know they cannot have the seven kingdoms so they think to take the North instead._

 

Arya had to laugh. “You are not the sort of woman my brother admires. His direwolf might savage you if you get too near. Besides, Rickon is not the Lord of Winterfell.”

 

Margaery looked confused. “Do you mean to deny him his seat?”

 

“No,” Arya replied, “It belongs to my brother Bran. I will speak to him of you when he returns but you would be better looking elsewhere.”

 

Margaery looked even more confused but she behaved friendly enough when they parted. Arya took her leave once she entered the Grand Hall. She stopped by the kitchens briefly on her way and spoke with the cooks. They were always friendly to her and gave her some leftover meat to take when she returned to her quarters. Nymeria waited for her, happily accepting the food and her guards looked relieved. Arya knew they missed the celebrations but the direwolf was her bigger concern.

 

_She must be kept safe. It will not be much longer._

 

The next day was a whirl of meetings and plans. With the coronation and blessing having passed other matters became more prominent. Arya listened to the plans for fixing the damage in the city and heard of the new ranks of gold cloaks forming the city guard. Aegon hoped to have food brought by ship from Essos along with that from the more plentiful areas of Westeros.

 

None of it was new but it did appear that order was beginning to be established. The Faith Militant did not get mentioned but Arya knew they worried Aegon still. She knew the history.  _They did not just rebel against the dragon kings, they tried to slay the dragons_. Arya also knew arrivals were impending. The Manderly fleet might arrive any day and Asha Greyjoy for one looked enthused by the prospect.

 

Arya was less than thrilled when she and her uncle were summoned by Randyll Tarly at the end of the day.

 

“Reports so far are that the Dornish and the Northmen were the most at fault.”

 

Arya felt dismayed but it confirmed her suspicions. She remembered the men at Stoney Sept back when she was with the Brotherhood.  _My own men, the wolves can be no better._ Arya heard some of it from being amongst the people but this made it even more certain. She gave the nod for Lord Randyll to make more inquiries.

 

“I will speak to them myself as well.”

 

He gave her a doubtful look.  _He wonders why I have waited._  Arya wondered the same herself.  _Mayhaps I did not want to know_.

 

She joined her bannermen at dinner. They gathered in the Small Hall and Arya mingled with them. Tom still lingered and it was quite usual for them to sing along with him. Arya joined them, laughing when Asha Greyjoy changed the lyrics to make the songs even bawdier than they already were. She joined in enjoying the looks of mixed horror and delight on some of the faces of her men.

_These are not the men responsible._  She knew them and she knew that was certain. She spoke with them after her discovery in the city.  _It must be men-at-arms or some of the lesser known soldiers._

 

She had a restless night. Nymeria slept after joining her in the training yard. The direwolf moved more easily though she did not like to put full weight on her injured leg yet. The sleeping wolf meant no wolf dreams. Instead Arya dreamed of ravens and darkness and the cave in which she knew Bran dwelled. He called to her.

 

_You are needed in the North._

 

When Arya woke she moved quickly to the rookery. The raven was hard to distinguish from the others until it cawed and flew to her.

 

“Sansa,” it shrieked. “Sansa.”

 

Arya smelled Varys before she saw him. When she turned to face him he was looking at the raven. It had landed on her shoulder and Arya decided not to disturb it.

 

“A bird like that seems quite useful my lady.”

 

Arya met his gaze.  _It is not the bird._  She said nothing but her eyes were drawn to the parchment he held in his hands.

 

“Yours,” the raven cawed.

 

Varys tittered but Arya saw the hard look in his eyes. “Aegon did not tell me of your raven.”

 

Arya put her hand out for the parchment. “I’m sure I don’t know all your little birds either,” she retorted.

 

He handed it to her. “It only arrived this morning. A messenger brought it.”

 

Arya’s hands shook a little. She knew Varys was aware of the contents. Even if he was not Master of Whisperers his lack of curiosity gave it away. Arya unfolded it.

 

_Your Grace,_

_I write this in the hopes that should we cross paths you might not kill me. I feel that hope is in vain but I thought I must try to prevail on the Stark sense of honour. I found your sister Sansa hidden in the Vale. I will fulfil my vow to return her to safety and ask that you will allow me to return to my sister._   _I wish to see her before judgement is passed._ I _must warn you to avoid the Vale in your travels. There is a nasty war about to be underway there. Something about a missing betrothed._

_Jaime Lannister_

Arya read it twice before raising her eyes. Before she could say anything Varys gave her confirmation.

 

“It is true. My birds further North tell me the Vale has been at war for a fortnight at least. The mountain clans began to trouble them and it is thought that one of them took the betrothed of the new Lord of the Eyrie. It is unclear how they snatched her from within the Bloody Gate. She was beautiful girl by all accounts.” He shook his head sadly but Arya felt as though he laughed at her. “A natural daughter of Lord Baelish.”

 

It did not add up.  _Why was the Lord of the Eyrie marrying a bastard?_ She narrowed her eyes at him.

 

“Does Lord Baelish have a natural daughter?”

 

Varys tittered. “You are quick my lady. He does not. It is curious that Alayne Stone disappeared after Ser Jaime visited the Vale.”

 

“Sansa is already married,” Arya argued.

 

Varys looked extremely amused. “Lord Petyr must have thought her a widow.”

 

Arya knew that people thought Tyrion dead. The eunuch was not one of them. He showed it when he spoke of Sansa.  _My sister._  Arya did not know what to do for a moment. She thought about what Varys told her of Lord Baelish and her father. Now there was this with Lord Baelish and her sister. Arya did not like what it suggested. Her anger at the man began to build.

 

_If he hurt Sansa I will kill him._

 

The anger was replaced with uncertainty when she thought of her sister.  _Why did she not return to Winterfell earlier? Why did she not write? Is she still angry with me?_ Arya had thought of Sansa in their time apart, her own anger had faded. She looked at herself quickly.

 

_What has she heard of me?_

Arya  _could_  be a lady if she really tried but Sansa did not know that.  _I’ll tell her I’m sorry_.  _I’ll even give her some of the gifts they keep offering. Sansa likes nice things._  She remembered Varys and focused on him once again. He was looking at her expectantly.

 

“She is still wanted for kingslaying,” Varys reminded her. “Even if he was not the rightful king, murder is still murder.”

 

Arya did not agree.  _I prayed for his death._

 

She tucked the parchment away and all but ran to find her uncle. Her mind raced. She must find Sansa. Her sister would not be in Winterfell yet even if Ser Jaime tried to go straight there. The Northern snows were heavy. She thought of what Brienne said of Jaime Lannister. She claimed he was a changed man but Arya did not trust him.

 

_He is still in league with his sister. His letter says so._

 

Arya knew the Lannisters wanted Winterfell.  _They lost everything else._  She blurted the news quickly to the Blackfish and told him to keep quiet about Sansa.

 

“I will take men North,” she said. “That is all people need to know. They can think I am weary for home if they wish.”

 

The Blackfish looked worried. “I will come with you Arya.”

 

Arya shook her head. “We must do as you suggested once before uncle. You must see if Uncle Edmure lives and give Aegon counsel.”

 

Brynden Tully accepted her kiss. “Do not underestimate Jaime Lannister,” he warned. “He is capable of atrocities. I told you what he said to Edmure.”

 

Arya nodded.  _He threatened to kill my uncle’s babe._

 

She located her advisors and told them to prepare the Northmen to leave on the morrow. She wanted it to be sooner but she knew arrangements must be made. She had returned to her chambers and was gathering up her things when she remembered Aegon.

 

He was pacing back and forth past the dragon skulls when she let herself into the cellar. She entered quiet as a shadow and he did not hear her. He started when he realised she was there.

 

“I am leaving,” she told him.

 

Aegon almost looked like he did not hear her. She realised he did not know she meant soon.

 

“I am leaving on the morrow.”

 

His mouth opened and shut and he frowned. “I knew you planned it but the West is not-“

 

“I am not going West,” she corrected. “I am going North. My family needs me. Sansa has been found.”

 

Aegon looked stunned. He blinked at her and seemed to be struggling. “You are leaving,” he repeated.

 

“I know you do not want to hear it but I need to tell you what Lord Connington said before he died.”

 

Aegon shook his head. “I bet I know what he said. He always said the same things. I have to be King. I have to wed Daenerys and I need the dragons.” His mouth twisted.

 

Arya sighed. “You knew him well. He did not want to fail your father or you.” She wanted to tell him what Connington said of her, it was on the tip of her tongue but she knew no good would come of it. “What will you do?”

 

Aegon tensed. “I will do as he suggested. He was not wrong.”

 

It felt worse than it should have. Arya knew it but to hear him say it without reservation stung. The question slipped from her lips before she could call it back.

 

“Is it what you want?”

 

Aegon gave her a long look with a dark expression.  _He still feels betrayed._

 

“What I want does not matter.” He paused a moment. “I do want a dragon. It is my birthright.”

 

Arya bit her lip. “You won’t get far if you treat it as a right.”

 

Aegon began to pace. He clenched his fists and Arya saw the gold on the pommel of his sword shine in the torchlight.

 

“Daenerys cannot refuse me this,” he said angrily. “The dragon must have three heads.”

 

Arya took a breath. “The dragons might have something to say about that even if Daenerys doesn’t. Do not forget your cousin Quentyn.”

 

“I have not forgotten,” he said quickly. “I did not thank you for the coronation present.”

 

The change in topic almost caught her off guard. The Blackfish procured a history book for Aegon, something he might find useful. Arya hid notes inside it. Things she learned in her training, things about identifying poisons and things about dragons.

 

“The occasion required a present.”

 

He nodded. “I have something I must give you too.”

 

Arya took a step back when he unsheathed his sword. He held it out to her, hilt first. Arya approached and took it. She turned the blade and saw the ripples in the steel.  _It is valyrian steel_. She took in the lion’s head pommel and the resemblance to the other blade and tears formed in her eyes.

 

“You found the other blade from my father’s sword.”

 

“My men found it when they searched the royal apartments,” Aegon said stiffly. “They are quarrelling over it.”

 

Arya set the blade down and ran at him, throwing her arms around him. Aegon’s arms remained at his sides at first but when Arya continued to cling to him he rested his hands gently at her back. Her vision blurred when she looked up at him.

 

“I did not give it to you because I wanted something in return,” he said softly.

 

“I know,” Arya whispered. She rested her head at his shoulder and felt him touch her hair. “I need you to be safe when I leave Aegon. My uncle will stay with you and there are men who are loyal.” She began to list the names and he stroked her hair. He trembled a little and when she looked up at him again he pressed his lips to her forehead.

 

“Say you forgive me,” she blurted. “I do not want to leave with you angry with me.”

 

“You make it impossible to stay angry,” he complained.

 

Arya touched his jaw and he caught her hand and kissed her fingers.  _He is making it difficult to leave._  She felt torn in two once again. There was still unfinished business in Kings Landing and in the West. Arya might find plenty of reasons to stay. Aegon’s soft expression and his sad smile, somehow still reminding her of Jon, drew her to him. She held onto him again.

 

 _He is not my family_  she told herself.  _He is not my pack. My pack is Jon and Bran and Rickon and Sansa. I have to find Sansa and Ser Jaime._

Thinking of Jaime Lannister made her feel more anger than she had in some time. The feeling was almost overwhelming and she did not quite know why. She felt it earlier when she read the letter too. It even overshadowed her anger at Cersei. Aegon stroked her back, bringing her back to the present and Arya met his gaze again. She saw his internal struggle and thought to end things by kissing his cheek. Instead her lips landed at the corner of his mouth.

 

“Arya,” he said almost pleadingly.

 

“I should leave,” she murmured but he did not let her go.

 

The kiss did not take her by surprise. Aegon deepened it with his tongue and Arya rose as high as she could on her toes, her arms locking tightly around his neck. Aegon’s hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. She wanted more, she wanted everything and she could feel he wanted it too. Aegon looked flushed when they paused for breath. He loosened his grip on her.

 

“I am not being fair. I want you in my bed.”

 

Arya pulled away from him. “The gods are cruel.”

 

Aegon did not ask what she meant. “They are,” he agreed. “I don’t suppose I could say we were worshipping like the Summer Islanders.”

 

Arya smiled weakly. The jape was a poor one but it eased the tension. Aegon reached for her again and she let him hold her. He kissed her once more, this time gently. This time Arya knew it was goodbye.

 

“Be safe Arya,” he said softly.

 

She did not want to let him go but she made herself. She retrieved the sword and Aegon passed her the scabbard to keep it in. She had begun to step away from him when she heard him speak again.

 

“You never once told me you love me.”

 

Arya took a shaky breath and willed herself to stay calm. “I did not want to love you.”

 

_You were never meant to be mine._

She did not look at him but she heard his shuddering breath.  _The gods are cruel_  she thought once more as she left him alone in the cellar.

 

 


	85. Chapter 85: Daenerys

**Chapter 85: Daenerys**

 

Dany watched her dragons flying overhead as the harbour of Lannisport came into view. She had thought to gentle them a little when she returned to Meereen but there was never the time and they gave her little opportunity when she tried.  _They are dragons, taming them was never going to be easy._ Still she worried about them. Drogon was under her control now but Viserion and Rhaegal continued to grow and together they made much mischief.

 

_Fire and Blood are the words of my House but the blood they shed must be by my choice._

 

Tyrion Lannister stood on the deck nearby. He was watching as the harbour drew closer and it seemed his mismatched eyes gleamed.  _This is his home._  They had spoken of the plan for taking Casterly Rock and it seemed sound. There was no need to use dragons this time. There would be no needless death.

 

_These are my people, Westeros is my home._

 

It all looked so foreign though. Dany only knew what she had been told and the accounts differed from person to person. She knew a little more than she had before and the men in Oldtown had told her some more. She now knew Arya Stark led the Northmen, not Sansa Stark as Tyrion assumed. The dwarf had laughed to the point where she wondered if he might be having some kind of fit. Dany failed to see the funny side. The girl claimed half of Westeros with her crown, there were rumours of sorcery and Aegon reportedly wanted to bed her. After Mirri Maz Duur, Dany hated sorcery. When she spoke of the rumours, Tyrion made a rude noise.

 

“They said the same about her brother before my father plotted with Walder Frey to have him killed at his uncle’s wedding. I heard all kinds of nonsense about him being a warg and his men turning into wolves. Men will make up stories to explain why they suffer numerous defeats and when the army is led by a young woman...” he gave her a knowing look. “I know I do not need to tell you about that Your Grace. I had dealings with the Starks, they are prickly where their honour is concerned but they are men just like us.”

 

Ser Jorah frowned at that and Tyrion grinned and looked down at himself and up at the dragons. “Yes, not quite like us but you know what I mean.”

 

“Rumours don’t explain the Northern crown,” Dany pointed out. “Aegon gave it to her.”

 

 _My brother crowned a Stark too_ she suddenly remembered. Ser Barristan told her of the tourney at Harrenhal. Lyanna Stark was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty.

 

Tyrion glanced at her. “I remember little of Arya Stark, Your Grace. She was a skinny child when I visited Winterfell. Mayhaps he does want to fuck her. You might want to ask  _him_  that when you meet him. I’m sure it will be a great conversation starter.”

 

Dany flushed. "You will not speak to me in that way."

 

The mirth still showed in Tyrion's eyes but it faded. "I apologise if I offended Your Grace."

 

The dwarf was insolent and rude. He offended everybody around them and Dany still received counsel every so often to have him executed. She refused it. Tyrion Lannister could not be trusted, the prophecy said so and his actions lent strength to that but he knew much her other advisors did not. He was clever in ways her other advisors were not and more learned as well. Only the archmaester knew more but unlike Tyrion he did not share that knowledge freely. He only shared what he wanted to suit his agenda.

 

_Tyrion wants to help take my throne from his sister._

 

Dany felt repulsed by the way he spoke of his family.  _He is a kinslayer._  Dany did not recognise Joffrey as a King so she did not label Tyrion Kingslayer but the boy was his nephew. The dwarf did not even show remorse for either kill.  _He thinks I should be relieved, as though he did me a service._  Dany let him live and she took his counsel but she would not care for him and could not trust him.

 

_He might make me laugh sometimes but he only wants to use me for his schemes._

It was likewise with Moqorro and Victarion. Benerro told her sadly that Moqorro was not the faithful servant he once was. He saw a betrayal coming but Dany did not understand it.  _He gave me the dragon horn._ He did not have to do it, he made an enemy of Victarion in doing so but he did it anyway. She saw the Ironborn captain brooding and glowering and wished she did not need his ships. She might have taken them from him but then she would need men to man the ships and the Ironborn were loyal to their captain.

 

_It will not be much longer._

 

The people of Lannisport ran long before they docked at the harbour. They knew what the kraken banners meant even if they had not seen the dragons. Dany mounted Drogon and took to the skies, allowing her men to commence their plans while she and her dragons provided a distraction. Drogon flew too high for her to see well but she saw a blanket of snow covering the ground. The burning of the Riverlands Tyrion told her of soon grew evident as she travelled farther east. She urged the dragon lower so that she could see better before turning Drogon back to fly over Casterly Rock again.

 

Her absence was brief. Drogon covered ground quickly but she was still gone long enough that the men had begun their attack. She waited with her Bear and Benerro.  _I hope Tyrion was right to be so confident._  The dwarf did seem to know a lot of military tactics. Dany might have preferred to take Ser Jorah’s advice or Ser Barristan’s but Casterly Rock was the seat of the Lannister’s. Tyrion knew it better than anybody and he had reason to want them to succeed and the knowledge to do so.

 

_They might even be in the drains already by now._

 

She thought uncomfortably about her family while she waited. All the talk of Aegon made her think of them more, of her father and of Viserys and all that Viserys had told her. She had been furious after hearing of the Northern crown and she spoke angrily of the Usurper’s dogs. Tyrion had been very blunt.

 

“You did not want to hear it from me before Your Grace but you would do well to accept it now. The Starks might have a direwolf as their sigil but they are no dogs. They answer to no master. It did not end well for them in Kings Landing. Ned Stark might have lasted a lot longer if he was what you say. You might do well to remember that when you come to deal with his children. The Starks do inspire loyalty from many.”

 

That had only served to remind her what was said of Aegon. “I do not understand how he could ally himself with those who brought the downfall of our House. His own sister and mother were killed in the Sack.”

 

“At the orders of my father,” Tyrion reminded her.

 

What he said of  _her_  father was difficult. She did not want to believe the things he said of the madness and what he said of Rhaegar was worst of all.

 

_“He was too busy fucking the Stark girl to spare a thought for the safety of his family.”_

 

Dany had banished the dwarf from her sight after those words. They did stay with her though. She asked Ser Barristan but the knight looked strained and he showed his displeasure at what Tyrion said.  _Rhaegar was mindful of duty, everybody said so._  Yet war broke out and he did not return. Ser Barristan also looked offended over what was said of her father but next time she saw Tyion he had an answer ready for that.

 

“Ser Barristan swore to serve your father, keep his secrets, and obey his commands Your Grace. He swore the Kingsguard vows and he kept them, not so well as some but still better than others. Ser Barristan has reason to paint a good picture, lest he have to face the truth of what he served.”

 

“Your brother served my father too,” Dany said sharply. “He murdered him.”

 

“Yes,” the dwarf said with a twist to his mouth. “That he did.”

 

Dany wondered now whether Tyrion thought of that same brother while he helped take the castle he was born in. He claimed to hate his brother but there was something there when he spoke of him that was not present when he spoke of his sister.

 

_She is the one he hates the most._

 

Dany moved closer to Benerro’s flames. It was cold and the fire he lit might keep her warm. She startled when he urged her closer.

 

“It is time for you to see my queen.”

 

She hesitated at first, remembering what had happened in the House of the Undying. Quaithe’s words came back to her and she might have pulled away if she had not begun to see what was in the flames. Benerro kept speaking in another tongue and Dany saw her dragons opposing one another. Before she could recover from the vision and ask what it meant it was replaced by one of two lovers, a man with silvery hair like hers and a dark haired girl who howled like a wolf. The last image she saw was ice, ice everywhere and something coming that was so terrible she could look at it no longer.

 

“Do you see now Daenerys,” he pressed her. “Do you see what you must do?”

 

Dany shook her head. Her thoughts returned to Drogon screaming and breathing flame at his brother. What was worse was the vision of her giving the command. She knew the ice and what it brought was important but she was the Mother of Dragons. She had to know of that first.

 

“How can I stop it?” she asked.

 

“You must see the signs of betrayal,” he responded. “Then you will know.”

 

*

 

She was still thinking of what she saw when a messenger came to tell her they had taken Casterly Rock. Dany went with her men to the castle and Grey Worm soon joined her. She knew he had news the moment she saw him.

 

“Your Grace, this Aegon is in Kings Landing. They call him King.”

 

“When did this happen,” she asked.

 

“This one does not know,” he replied. “The men in the castle say this Aegon marched on the city. They say it was expected for some time.”

 

“Why did we not hear this in Oldtown?”

 

Grey Worm tensed. “This one will ask, gracious queen.”

 

Dany thanked him and continued walking. Ser Jorah soon joined her once more but he let her think in silence as they walked. She now had even more questions to add to those from the visions. If Aegon wanted to marry her, why did he not come to meet her? They might have made the journey together, taken the throne together if he was truly who he said he was.

 

_He might have wanted the crown more. He might have seen me as a rival._

 

She thought of Quentyn Martell.  _I could not marry him._ His death was not meant to happen. She might have done things differently with Aegon if he had come. She thought of the vision of her brother in the House of the Undying.

 

_The dragon must have three heads. There must be one more._

 

That was what he had said. He had said Aegon was the Prince who was Promised but Benerro said it was her. Her head hurt. She was the blood of the dragon but she might not be alone. Tyrion offered one explanation for Aegon not coming to her. She had taken far too long to come to Westeros. Ser Jorah thought the same she knew but it still nagged at her.

 

_Aegon might have helped me in Meereen when I was under attack._

 

Instead he came to Westeros without her. She thought on the rumours once more. Arya Stark might not be a sorceress but if she and Aegon were not lovers yet, they soon would be. She did not think it was her brother she saw in the vision. She thought it must be Aegon.  _I must look for signs of betrayal._  She was not certain him  _bedding_  the girl was betrayal.

 

 _If that is true then I must judge Rhaegar in the same way._ Dany was not sure she could do that. She needed to know more. She had questions and she meant to make Aegon answer them. The first and foremost she wanted to ask about was the North.

  

Tyrion was nowhere to be seen when Dany entered the castle. She asked about him and the men showed her the way. They weaved their way through the fortress, passing chambers and halls. Every room was richly furnished, a show of wealth. Finally they reached a lavish solar. The dwarf sat at a table. A goblet of wine sat before him. On his right was a pile of parchment while a stack of coins teetered on his left. He looked up as she entered.

 

“My Queen,” he said rather cheerily. He struggled down from his chair and took a knee. When she told him to rise he quickly returned to it. He grinned at her and beckoned for her to sit at the table. She approached warily.

 

“Do you not wish to rest? It has been a long day.”

 

“Taking castles  _is_  tiring work Your Grace,” he said agreeably “but I have a curious mind and I could not bear to sleep before learning a few things. Would you like wine?”

 

Dany accepted the offer. She took a sip and looked at the items on the table. “What is it that you have?”

 

“Much of value,” Tyrion replied. He picked up a coin and tossed it to her. “You have not seen one of these before.”

 

Dany turned the coin to look at it. On one side it had her father’s face. She only knew because the coin was imprinted with his name. On the reverse was the three headed dragon of her House.

 

“It is a Gold Dragon.”

 

Tyrion nodded. “That one was minted during your father’s reign, Your Grace. The new coinage will need a different face.”

 

Dany studied his expression.  _He looks too smug._  Ser Jorah clearly thought the same.

 

“What have you found out Imp?” he demanded.

 

Tyrion selected one piece of parchment and slid it across the table to Dany. “I had heard of this letter being distributed amongst the kingdoms. The sailors told us word of it in Volantis but reading it is a different matter. You might find it interesting Your Grace.”

 

Dany looked at the broken seal. The wax was grey and white.  _It is Stark colours._  She frowned at Tyrion but began to read nonetheless.

 

_I write this in my own hand from Storm's End where I am under the protection of His Grace Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his name, rightful King of Westeros._

_I am the trueborn daughter of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell by his lady wife Catelyn of House Tully. I declare upon the honour of House Stark that House Bolton and House Lannister have knowingly and wilfully installed an imposter in my place to usurp my rightful claim to Winterfell. By right of birth and blood and in the absence of my sister the Lady Sansa I do this day lay claim to Winterfell._

_I have proof of my identity if I must assuage any doubts however no one who has met me can deny that I am a Stark, that I am in fact a wolf. My father once said that the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. I am sorry to say that in this he has been wrong. I am not completely alone but it appears I am the lone wolf in this matter. He also said however that Starks endure and in this he was right. I will endure and the enemies of my House and of those who remain loyal to the Starks will soon rue the day they betrayed us._

_I call on those who see the murder of my father and the abomination of the Red Wedding as the butchery that it was to stand against those responsible._

_The North Remembers._

_Arya Stark_

_Lady of Winterfell_

_Winter is Coming_

 

Dany raised her head from the parchment. The claim of rightful King of Westeros leapt out at her, as did the suggestion the girl was  _under the protection_  of Aegon. Dany remembered the vision of the two lovers in the flames but she looked at the remainder of the letter once more.

 

“She sounds so angry.”

 

Tyrion cocked his head to the side and looked at her with mismatched eyes. “She sounds like you, Your Grace. You think yourself the lone dragon do you not? You bear the burden of representing your House?”

 

Before Dany could protest he slid another piece of parchment towards her. This one bore a red and gold seal. She read quickly. “Your niece stripped Arya Stark of all claims and titles and charged her with treason. It is an order for her death.”

 

Tyrion made a noise. “ _Cersei_  made that order. My sweet sister saw an enemy and thought to crush her. She underestimated her foe.”

 

Dany saw his smirk. “What happened?”

 

“The letters became less useful but the castellan, a distant cousin of mine, has been quite helpful in filling in the blanks. It seems the Northmen became incensed upon hearing that the crown did not recognise their leader as a Lady so they pronounced her Queen instead. I  _wish_  I had been there to see Cersei’s face when she heard that news.”

 

 _Aegon did not crown her_. Dany did not know what to think. “What else do you know?”

 

“Cersei tried to have them killed and failed. All she managed to do in truth was drive almost every Lord in the Seven Kingdoms to support them. The youngest Stark boy lives and he holds Winterfell. Arya Stark and her army joined with Aegon’s army and the Dornish. Aegon took King’s Landing this past week. He is now King and Cersei is on the run.”

 

“I heard he was King. How did we not know any of this earlier?”

 

Tyrion gave her a strange look. “That is a good question. I was occupied in other activities when you landed in Oldtown. It is curious they had no news of it.”

                                                

 _Victarion hid this from me_. Dany felt anger bubble up inside of her.  _I will deal with him later._

 

“I must go to Kings Landing,” she said quickly. “I must meet with Aegon and determine if he is my brother’s son.”

 

Tyrion shook his head and made a  _tsk tsk_ sound. “That is not the course I would take Your Grace.”

 

Dany frowned. “What would you do?”

 

“I would let him come to me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because that is how the game is played. If you go to him you look like an oppressor, you converge on the city with dragons and slave solders and you look like a potential kingslayer and kinslayer.”

 

Dany protested. “They are not slaves.”

 

Tyrion gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Yes former slave soldiers Your Grace. The people are unlikely to make that distinction. If he comes to you he must abandon his seat of power. He will look as though he is seeking your favour. He will weaken his position.”

 

Dany looked to Ser Jorah and he nodded agreement.

 

“What makes you think he will come?” she asked.

 

Tyrion Lannister looked at her then with a glint in his eye. He turned one of the coins over and over in his thick, stubby fingers. “We have dragons my queen,” he said quietly. “Everybody wants to see dragons.”

 


	86. Chapter 86: Sansa

**Chapter 86; Sansa**

 

She shifted in her bed, trying to cling to sleep. As she woke it took her a little to realise Willow Heddle called her name. Her true name, not the one she had used in the Vale.

 

 _I am not Alayne any more_ , she reminded herself.  _I am Sansa, Sansa Stark. I am the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn._

 

Sometimes she did not remember, especially in those first days after Ser Jaime tricked her into leaving the Vale with him. Jeyne Heddle looked at her in astonishment when Ser Jaime told them of her assumption that Rickon might come to harm.

 

“Why did you think the Lady Brienne might harm your brother?” she asked. “She served your lady mother and she is in service to your sister now.”

 

Sansa made a quick excuse, taking pains to cover her anger. It was better that they think her still to be naïve but she did not like feeling like a piece once again. Exposure to one of the Lannisters had instantly taken her back to that frightened girl who barely knew what to do to survive. She forgot her very first lesson.

 

_Everybody wants something. Find out what he wants and you will know who he is and how to move him._

 

In her worry about her family Sansa forgot to look for what Ser Jaime wanted. Instead of her looking to see what he wanted, she had exposed her own weakness and become a piece once again

 

_I could never be anything other than a piece while in the Vale._

She might have determined what Petyr wanted but he knew her weakness too. He kept her trapped and with the death of Robert Arryn and the threat against her brother and sister she felt her vulnerability keenly. Still she found herself missing the Gates of the Moon when she looked at her surroundings now. She had never felt so dirty and the gown she wore was filthy. Her hair might be returning to its natural auburn but she looked even less like herself.

 

_I was never so hungry in the Vale either._

Jeyne Heddle offered Sansa one of her gowns so that she might change. Sansa held back her frown and thanked the innkeep. The gown was clean even if it was not something she might ever choose to wear. The fit was poor but given Sansa had no alternative she wore it nonetheless. She thought wistfully of the lovely gowns she left behind before shaking her head.

 

_Those were not mine. They belonged to Alayne Stone._

Ser Jaime wished to leave quickly, to begin travelling North but a storm set in and even if the snow had not hindered them the outlaws offered opposition. They did not trust a Lannister and they doubted his intentions. They were not the only ones. Sansa questioned Ser Jaime herself after he told her of the plan to take her to Winterfell.

 

“May I ask why you are taking me North? Won’t the Queen be angry with you?”

 

Ser Jaime’s mouth twisted and he looked rather bitter.

 

“My sweet sister has bigger problems than you my lady.”

 

He almost spat the word  _sister_  and Sansa knew then they must have quarrelled. He still spoke of returning to Cersei but he did not sound happy about it. It was more a grim determination. He spoke to her of Tyrion a little but that was tinged with something else too. It seemed all the Lannisters were at odds with one another. Sansa thought once more of Tyrion and of the rumours of his death.

 

 _I should feel relieved._ The death of her husband might free her but she did not feel free.  _I will have to marry again._  Sansa did not wish for another marriage solely for her claim. She still remembered why the Lannisters married her to Tyrion. They wanted her claim to Winterfell. Joffrey’s death and the suspicion of her involvement put a halt to that but Sansa had not forgotten. Only Rickon stood in the way of her being the heir once more and even if Lady Brienne did not mean to harm him, Sansa knew from Littlefinger that another piece might be moved to play the part.

 

 _Littlefinger might have intended him harm too_  she suddenly remembered. She took a deep breath to quell her panic.  _He will be busy with the war. Winterfell will not be his concern now._

 

She made her way down the stairs and into the common room to break her fast. The room fell silent when she entered. She saw Jaime Lannister seated with some of the clansmen. Not far from him was Lord Dayne with his men. The tension in the room remained high. Sansa wondered once again whether she had made the right decision.

 

_Mayhaps I should have let Lord Dayne kill Ser Jaime._

She had not known at the time that Rickon was not in danger from the Lannisters. The young lord looked her way briefly before looking back down at his food. Others amongst his group were not so courteous. Sansa felt their eyes crawling over her but it was no more than what the clansmen did too. She held her head high and moved through the room speaking to the men on her way.

 

She asked after Shagga’s health, knowing that he viewed himself the leader but made certain to give due attention to both those who represented the other clans  _and_  those she saw making moves to improve their position. She found it difficult given their savage natures but she had used her courtesies to deal with just as bad in Kings Landing.

 

_They appeared better dressed in their fine doublets and cloaks but underneath they were capable of just as much violence._

 

Sansa always made certain Ser Jaime remained close at first. She had seen the clansmen kill one another during their quarrels and no matter her lessons it frightened her. With time and after journeying from the Vale with them she became less fearful of them harming  _her_. They offered her a certain respect as Tyrion’s wife. She accepted it though it made her feel guilty. She still made certain to distance herself when they settled disputes. She also made certain to be watchful where she slept.

 

_Ser Jaime will not let them touch me._

 

Sansa knew why he told her and the Heddle sisters to block their door at night. Ser Jaime japed and his charming smile could be cruel but under it she sensed something different. She looked at his stained kingsguard cloak and thought of Tyrion and Joffrey and of the kingsguard knights she knew. Ser Jaime seemed more noble in his treatment of her than Ser Meryn or others who beat her on Joffrey’s orders.

 

_He appears to behave as a knight even though he is a Lannister._

 

Lord Dayne spoke just as chivalrously. Sansa felt confused by the both of them but she took pains not to show it. Ned Dayne was an outlaw and she heard the tales of them. Jaime Lannister was Cersei’s twin, the kingslayer who had no honour. For all that he spoke insistently about the vow he made to her mother.

 

_He says he means to see me safely to Winterfell._

It was everything she dearly wanted but she did not trust it to be true. She moved on from speaking to the clansmen and took a seat beside Jeyne. The innkeep was sitting with the outlaws but Sansa knew her choice of seating would not be questioned merely because she sat with another woman. It gave her a chance to begin observing the outlaws as she had with the clansmen.

 

Everybody called Lord Dayne Ned and he did little to correct them. Hearing that name hurt but it was a sweet hurt. She listened to them speak to one another. Sansa expected them to lack honour, to have no laws. She expected them to be violent as well. Instead she saw that they looked to Lord Dayne as their leader and none challenged him.

 

_He speaks gently but he speaks as father once did._

 

Sansa remembered the loyalty her father had from his men. This seemed the same. From all she heard of them she thought the outlaws to be killers, much like the Hound. They appeared rather different. The rumours reached her while in the Vale that the Hound had joined them and she was not certain what she thought of that.

 

That night, before she went to bed, she spoke of the Hound to the Heddle sisters. They looked offended.

 

“He would not be welcome,” Willow said scornfully. “Lord Beric gave him a trial once. He won his freedom but they would not spare him a second time, not after he took your sister.”

 

Sansa could not cover her shock. She listened to them speak of Arya, of her time with the outlaws and their hope to ransom her to Robb and of the Hound capturing her and taking her away. The sisters spoke of meeting Arya in hushed tones, telling of a woman who did not resemble the girl from the stories the Brotherhood told. Sansa pressed them for information and they gave it but only up to a point.

 

“She did not seem like a queen,” Jeyne offered in a quiet voice, ignoring Willow’s glare. “She and the prince both seemed kind. He gave us food and she spoke gently to the children. I never thought she might-”

 

Sansa never got to hear what Jeyne intended to say. Willow silenced her sister.

 

“She isn’t the girl they knew anymore. None of us are.”

 

Sansa had to agree as she burrowed down under the furs.  _I am not the girl I once was either._  She lay awake for some time thinking of Arya. She still imagined her sister as the same but of course she wasn’t. Arya was a woman now. She had been somewhere for years, eluding the Lannisters. Sansa might have envied her if not for the stories she now began to hear.

 

_They kept her captive in Harrenhal. She was captured by outlaws. The Hound captured her._

She remembered the Hound telling her he would have a song from her and closed her eyes tightly.  _He protected me. He did not mean it._  She remembered the kiss and the cloak he left her.  _If he protected me he would not have hurt Arya._  She kept telling herself the same over and over until sleep finally came.

 

The snow continued to fall heavily and Sansa began to wonder whether Harry and his men might catch them. She then realised the snow might hinder the men of the Vale even more. She thought of Winterfell and of the godswood there.  _It will not be cold there._ The hot springs would melt the snow. She knew now she did not want Harry or Petyr to find her even though the thought of the war fought because of her made her feel ill.

 

_I want to go home. I will be strongest within the walls of Winterfell._

 

She clung to what Ser Jaime said.  _The war might have happened regardless._  She had other things to feel guilty over. Robert Arryn’s death was one.  _Petyr insisted on the sweetmilk, it was not me._  She tried to push it from her mind. That was something Alayne did, not Sansa.

 

The outlaws struggled through the snow to bring them food, meagre as the offerings were. Sansa took what they offered with increasing gratitude. The sisters spoke of the outlaws as their protectors and she began to see why when the orphaned children watched for them and the offerings they brought. It made Sansa think again of her choices.

 

Ser Jaime remained close to her but she found her chances to speak to Ned Dayne. He spoke shyly to her at first. She feared what it meant but Willow only laughed when she remarked on it.

 

“That is just Ned. He never forgets his courtesies. Give him time and he will be warmer.”

 

Sansa feared she did not have time. Ser Jaime spoke often of leaving and he began to view her suspiciously.

 

“I am not Ned Dayne my lady,” he informed her with one of his smiles. “I can see beyond your courtesies and I see what you are doing. I might have done the same but he is unlikely to heed my charms.”

 

Sansa blushed at his insinuation.  _He thinks of me as he does his sister._  She remembered what Cersei told her during the battle.  _Tears are not a woman’s only weapon._  That would do no good with Lord Edric. Sansa already knew that of the man even if she  _had_  been prepared to try that tactic.

 

_Women are not his weakness. His honour is his weakness as with father._

 

The prospect of using him gave her no joy but she did not intend to remain Jaime Lannister’s captive. Ned Dayne never went far and he watched the clansmen carefully. It took little for her to find herself in his presence once more, this time when one of the fairly regular fights broke out between the clans. He looked alarmed when the axes were brought out and Sansa felt startled when he shielded her and began to draw his sword. She took hold of his arm to try to stop him. He turned to her and he looked solemn.

 

“I will let no harm come to you my lady.”

 

Sansa wanted to tell him that if he drew the sword it would likely be him at risk but Ser Jaime saved her the trouble.

 

“You will not need your sword Lord Edric,” he said cheerfully. “All the axes will be put away now that the argument is settled.”

 

Sansa stepped out from behind Ned and was not surprised to see a man bleeding on the floor. She heard Ser Jaime telling them to take him outside. When she looked at Ned Dayne his expression was utter disapproval.

 

“I must thank you my lord,” she said.

 

It took him a moment to give her his attention. He looked at her full of concern.

 

“These are no fit companions for you my lady,” he said softly. “You do not belong amongst men who take such joy in killing.”

 

Sansa recalled the Hound’s words to her and knew that she had been amongst such people long before meeting the clansmen. That was not what Ned Dayne needed to hear right now. She lowered her eyes.

 

“They are most fearsome my lord. I-I do worry.”

 

It was not a lie, not completely.  _If I dared it I might use them to my own purposes._  She had never done so before but she knew enough of them to know how they might be motivated. She dared not take the risk. She had watched and learned from Littlefinger but to do such a thing herself...  _I am not him._  She  _did_  think the clansmen fearsome warriors and they  _did_  worry her with their unpredictability.

 

Ned Dayne knelt before her and took hold of her hand.

 

“You must not stay with them my lady,” he said earnestly.

 

Sansa felt a surge of guilt looking down into his face. It was a kind and handsome face and the young lord was honest. She glanced across the common room and saw Pod gaping at her.  _He was meant to be with Ser Jaime._  It mattered little. Sansa knew what she must do.

 

“I must go North my lord,” she told Ned. “Even if they are not suitable companions, they will not be parted from my company before I arrive at Winterfell.” She swallowed before saying the next words and averted her gaze from him. “I feel safe with you my lord. I will be sorry to leave your protection.”

 

His grip on her hand tightened a little and she looked at him once more.

 

“We will come with you if you wish it.”

 

She could almost see Petyr’s gleeful reaction but Sansa did not feel proud.  _This is the second time I have tricked him._ Ned rose and let go of her hand. He pushed his pale blond hair out of his eyes.  _He eyes almost appear purple, like the Targaryens._  Sansa waited patiently for him to go on.

 

“Please think on it my lady,” he urged her. “We are more honourable than we might seem.”

 

Sansa already knew and she did not need to think on it.

 

“I would be most grateful my lord,” she told him truthfully. “You are so very kind.”

 

Ser Jaime was far less than grateful when he heard the news. She saw him shoot her a look which looked part admiration and part frustration. He sat beside her at dinner and murmured in her ear.

 

“Well played good sister. One might mistake you for a Lannister after all.”

 

Sansa held her tongue but inside she seethed.  _I never wanted to be a Lannister._  When she gave her love to Joffrey she had no idea what it truly meant. She listened to Ser Jaime and Ned Dayne speaking and quickly calmed herself. Ned spoke of honour and duty. He showed no joy at the prospect of killing. Sansa had not seen anybody show such restraint and speak with such certainty, not in all her time in Kings Landing when she still believed in the knights from the songs and certainly not since.

 

_Life is not a song._

Ser Jaime spoke of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Sansa listened to him talk of the man to Ned. In listening she finally realised what it was that Ser Jaime wanted, what it was that motivated him in his claimed quest to return her to safety.

 

_He wants to be like Arthur Dayne._

The idea was enough for her to have to stifle mad laughter. It did not matter how bitterly Jaime Lannister spoke, how much he tried and failed to goad Ned Dayne, his secret was plain to see once she truly looked. What he wanted was completely and utterly unattainable. Ser Arthur Dayne  _was_ a knight of songs, of bravery and honour where everywhere Ser Jaime went his dishonour followed.

 

_This is why he wants to fulfil the oath to my mother._

 

Sansa might have pitied him if he weren’t a Lannister. Even worse for Ser Jaime, his wish for a last act of honour in the eyes of the realm was going to be stolen from him. Sansa had stolen it the moment she told Ned Dayne she was afraid. She stole it when she orchestrated for Ned to offer to go North with her. She saw Ser Jaime tense when Ned spoke of the journey North.

 

“Our work began on Lord Stark’s orders. It seems fitting we keep his daughter safe.”

 

Sansa had begun to adjust to hearing people speak of her father as something other than a traitor. The lords spoke highly of him in the Vale and the outlaws were no different. After all the time training herself to speak of him as a traitor the idea of being able to defend him was enough to make her want to weep.

 

_I know now why he did what he did._

She hated the Lannisters more when she discovered the truth.  _Joffrey was never a true king._  Ser Jaime did not speak well of him. He was rather blunt and Sansa did wish he would not speak of it. He thought both her and Tyrion were responsible and Sansa worried about telling him the truth. Her time came that night when he walked with her up the stairs to her room. She noted that he appeared far more beautiful now that he had bathed, changed and shaved. His words however were not beautiful.

 

“You have learned well my lady,” he told her. “You rather remind me of Cersei.”

 

Sansa stiffened. “Lord Edric was merely being kind Ser, I do not know what you mean.”

 

Ser Jaime laughed. “Yes, he is a Dayne. They are as prickly about their honour as the Starks once were.” He eyed her in a way that made her uncomfortable. His green eyes seemed to hold secrets and she felt as though she were being inspected. “You are more like your lady mother than your father though and I do not mean your look.”

 

Sansa felt her confusion growing. “My lady mother was most brave Ser.” She knew it to be true but she sensed that he meant something else.

 

“Oh yes,” he smirked. “Let us not forget the brave and honourable Tullys.  _Family, duty, honour,_  they say yet they are quite capable of brutal vengeance when wronged.”

 

Sansa did not know how her mother fit into this but she knew why he looked at her in such a way. She did not wish for Joffrey’s death to be attributed in any way to her mother’s House.

 

“I did not kill Joffrey Ser,” she told him quietly. “Tyrion and I knew nothing of the plan.”

 

Jaime Lannister paled. It took him the briefest of moments to recover.

 

“This would be Littlefinger.”

 

Sansa did not know why she tried to spare Petyr but the words spilled from her lips nonetheless.

 

“Lady Olenna did not wish for Margaery to be married to Joffrey. She thought Tommen to be a better king.”

 

Ser Jaime paused at her door. A smile appeared frozen on his face.

 

“Tommen might have been a better king had he lived.”

 

Before Sansa could reply Jaime Lannister was gone. She entered the room and found Willow Heddle waiting for her. The young woman looked angry.

 

“Is something the matter?” Sansa asked.

 

Willow glared at her. “We need them here.”

 

_She means the outlaws. When they travel North she will be left alone with the orphans._

 

“They will return,” Sansa replied. “You will still have some men remaining here.”

 

“Not the good ones,” Willow said stubbornly.

 

Sansa knew who she meant. She pictured Ned Dayne kneeling before her.  _He is the best of them._  She lifted her chin a little.

 

“I will have my brother send you men once I return to Winterfell. Mayhaps we might send a raven to my sister.”

 

Willow’s anger did not abate. “We don’t have ravens here,” she retorted. “The queen is fighting her war with the prince. She won’t care for ravens right now.”

 

Sansa had spoken about it with them before but they told her little. She pressed to find out more but information travelled so slowly.

 

“He will be king soon if he isn’t already,” Willow offered. “People don’t pass through in winter as they used to so we don’t know much.”

 

Sansa knew what that meant.  _Cersei will meet her end and Ser Jaime will not have the gold he promised the clansmen._  While she felt pleased about Cersei, it surprised her that she felt a twinge of sympathy for Ser Jaime. Jeyne joined them and Sansa listened to them speak of Arya and the prince once more. She hesitated just a moment before making a request.

 

“If Arya comes this way will you tell her of me?”

 

Willow gave her a look Sansa might have expected from Arya.

 

“Why?” she asked. “Do you not want us to?”

 

Sansa smoothed the skirt of her threadbare gown.

 

“I would wish for her to know everything,” she said quietly. “I would wish for her to know all that you have seen and heard.”

 

Willow still viewed her suspiciously but Jeyne nodded solemnly.

 

“We will do that m’lady.”

 

Sansa might have arranged for her passage North to be a little safer but she now thought wistfully of her family.  _I will see Rickon soon_. She wondered what he looked like now and if he remembered her at all. Arya concerned her more though. The things Sansa heard worried her about what her sister was now like.  _What will she say when she sees me?_  They had so much to speak of but they had not been close.  _We are still so different._  She did not quite know what she might say when they met.

 

It was still some days before the weather cleared enough for them to leave. Ser Jaime tried to hide it but Sansa saw his agitation.  _He wanted to travel quickly._  They might have left sooner if they had more horses. The need to travel by foot meant waiting for the snow to lessen. It finally did and Sansa made certain to dress as warmly as possible.

 

She accepted the hard bread from Jeyne to break her fast. Her tummy felt all unsettled with nerves at the prospect of moving from the inn. It did not feel like a homely place, in truth Sansa found it rather unpleasant but she had not forgotten the journey from the Vale. The inn offered shelter and it would be some time before she had it again.

 

Ser Jaime and Podrick lingered near her. Ser Jaime barked orders and the clansmen slowly did as was asked. Sansa braced herself for a day of difficulty and Pod stammering and struggling on their shared horse. When she stepped out the door of the inn she was greeted by the outlaws. Anguy held the reins of two horses and there were more tethered in the yard. Ned Dayne gestured to her and Sansa walked towards him.

 

“We have a horse for you my lady,” he said politely.

 

Sansa ignored the remark from Ser Jaime behind her and stepped cautiously towards the horse Anguy pointed to. She was not cautious enough and her foot slipped on the ice. A hand gripped her arm and she realised Ned had caught her.

 

“Take care my lady, the ground is quite slippery.”

 

Sansa felt tears trying to sting her eyes. He kept hold of her arm and guided her to the horse, helping her up into the saddle.

 

“You are very kind my lord.”

 

Ned looked embarrassed. “Lord Beric promised to deliver your sister to safety. He... that is, we... failed her in that. I hope to make amends.”

Sansa had to bite the inside of her mouth to control her expression. She blinked to get rid of the water in her eyes.

 

“I am most grateful. I am certain my brother will make you quite welcome at Winterfell.”

 

He nodded stiffly and Sansa studied him again. The outlaws expected a ransom for delivering Arya to Robb. It seemed they wished for no reward now but Sansa had not known anybody to do anything purely out of kindness any more. It was another of Petyr’s lessons.  _They will have their reward._  She did not feel certain Arya or Rickon might pay. After all Arya was away at war and Rickon might not remember her.

 

 _They will pay_  she decided. Sansa would make certain of it.

 

Ned made a few adjustments to the saddle before mounting his own horse. Anguy began to sing and tell japes. Ser Jaime soon joined her looking a mix of amusement and annoyance.

 

“Did your outlaw lord shower you with enough gallantry my lady?”

 

Sansa nodded warily. “Lord Dayne was very courteous.”

 

Anguy overheard them and grinned. “That’s Ned. More chivalry than sense he has.”

 

Jaime laughed at that but Sansa did not answer. The clansmen were arguing again and Ser Jaime left her to join Pod and urge them to get ready to leave. Anguy gestured in their direction.

 

“I told Ned if we just picked them off when we got here we would have an easier time of it but he still wants to do things Beric’s way.”

 

Sansa’s curiosity got the better of her. “What was Lord Beric truly like?” She remembered Jeyne Poole thinking she was in love with him during the Hand’s Tourney but that seemed a lifetime ago.

 

Anguy’s expression darkened. “He was brave and just and too good for this world.”

 

Sansa glanced over at Ned Dayne and worried. The young lord seemed determined to model himself on the Lightning Lord. She had learned something from her father’s death and the time since.

 

 _Those who try to do good die in the attempt._ As they set out on their way along the Kingsroad headed North the thought continued to worry her.  _I pray he does not meet the same fate._

 


	87. Chapter 87: Aegon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a drabble following on from chapter 86 from Ned Dayne’s POV. If you are interested you can read it here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1125691/chapters/4181355

**Chapter 87: Aegon**

 

Aegon grimaced whenever he remembered his last conversation with Arya. Her affection and the need for him to distance himself, knowing what he needed to do, made it all sound wrong. He hated that his regard for her appeared to only extend to wanting to bed her. He did want to make love to her, that was true but more than that, despite his remaining bitterness over her keeping Lord Connington’s secret, he wanted what she had given him the night before the battle to take the city. He wanted her comfort, her encouragement, her smile, her affection and most of all her love. He thought again on what she said when he pressed her.

 

_“I did not want to love you.”_

 

It cut deep until he thought on it and he thought of little else at first. It was not a denial. She said she did not  _want_  to love him. The words tormented him. It only served to confirm what he once thought he knew. Arya loved him and he must forget her to pursue another. Daenerys was his kin. He expected that in the absence of a need to woo her he might feel a bond of some sort. They were the last of their House.

 

_If she will have me we will marry but I will not love her as I do Arya._

 

He remembered what Lord Connington told him many times before they came to Westeros. Aegon always knew his marriage would be political. He was raised knowing he must marry somebody who might help secure the throne and keep peace in the realm.  _My parents married without knowing one another, my grandparents had an arranged marriage too._  He could not help but think of how both ended very badly.

 

 _If I married Arya we might have been happy._  Aegon certainly would not look to another woman as his father had. With distance from Arya and forgetting her resemblance to her Aunt he thought more on his mother.  _My father shamed her._  Lord Connington did not speak of it but Nym did. She meant no harm by it but it was truth.

 

 _I would not do the same to my wife._  He tried not to think of Arya when he told himself this.  _She would not consent to be my mistress anyway._

 

Lord Connington was to ensure his match with Daenerys happened. If he had not died Aegon might have sought his counsel once more. Aegon did not doubt his Aunt would marry him until Tyrion planted doubts in his mind. The faceless men targeting him did not help and Arya’s rejection of his proposals only added to it.  _If a woman who loves me will not marry me what hope do I have?_  He had to try not to dwell on that. He must pursue his Aunt just as originally planned.

 

_She wishes to be queen so that is one less obstacle._

 

The thought might have comforted him if not for the reminder of his family history. People whispered of Daemon Blackfyre and of Rhaenyra Targaryen, both traitors to their kin.  _Her wanting to be queen might not help me if she wishes to be far more than a consort._  Aegon did not intend to be king in name only. He intended to be the king he was raised to be but Daenerys had been queen far longer that he had been king.

 

_She was only queen of Meereen though. Varys promised she would greet kin warmly._

 

He just hoped that warm greeting did not involve dragon flame. He watched the Northern army gathering outside the Red Keep along with those accompanying them. Some emerged from within the Keep but Aegon watched from a distance. He already said his farewells. He thought he saw Haldon in the midst of the army but could not be certain. The Halfmaester was not happy when Aegon told him to go North.

 

_He thought my reasons to be poor._

 

The direwolf still needed some care though that excuse did appear flimsy. The more convincing reason was the sudden illness of the maester who had travelled with the army to Kings Landing, The man did not look likely to recover any time soon and his incapacity meant another maester must be sent North.

 

_This way I will feel as though I have some presence at her side._

 

Haldon questioned him sharply when he gave the order.

 

“Do you wish me to inform on her to you Your Grace?”

 

Aegon hesitated before shaking his head.

 

“No, that will not be necessary.”

 

Haldon smiled at that. “She would know of it if I attempted it.”

 

Aegon smiled a weak smile. “Yes, she would.”

 

He looked down upon the gathering again and saw the guard for the wolf. He knew Arya did not trust that she would not be harmed.  _She is not wrong._  He made out Brynden Tully’s figure and saw him embracing a cloaked person Aegon knew must be Arya. The crowd of men parted a little and he saw the Blackfish look up at him before kissing Arya’s hand.

 

_He is not happy either._

A soft footfall alerted Aegon to a presence and he turned to see Nymeria Sand. She did not hide her frown.

 

“This is foolish cousin,” she scolded him. “You should not let her go.”

 

Aegon glanced at the knights posted at the door. Their expressions flickered but they remained silent.

 

_They must keep my secrets._

“Mind your tongue Nym,” he replied. “Besides, you know Arya. Nobody tells her what to do.”

 

Nym walked to the balcony, leaning out far further than even Aegon dared and he grinned at her flamboyant wave.

 

“You should go with her then,” she insisted. “You might bring her back once this mess with her sister is over.”

 

Aegon sighed. “It is  _you_  being foolish dear cousin. You know I cannot leave.”

 

Nym glowered at him. “You will leave for the dragons.”

 

He looked away from her and back down at the slow moving army. The Blackfish had finished his farewells and they were beginning to move.

 

“That is different,” he said softly.

 

Nym remained silent for a moment before taking his hand in hers.

 

“I quarrelled with her,” she confessed.

 

Aegon lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it before letting go.

 

“I thought you might.”

 

She sighed and her arm snaked around his waist. He let her lean into him.

 

“I told her I did not wish for her to leave. I tried to make her see but she did not listen. Even the fear of you burning will not change her mind.”

Aegon frowned and pushed away the doubts about the dragons.  _I cannot let Nym see that I am worried._

 

“She did not choose easily. It is her sister. Besides, I will not burn. Don’t be foolish.”

 

Nym made a rude noise and put her head on his shoulder.

 

“It is not foolish. I know of this sister of hers. She showed no loyalty. I am closer to Arya than she ever was. Even after our quarrel she still kissed me farewell and shared her hopes and fears with me. She is meant to be kin.”

 

_Nym thinks of her as another sister._

 

“Sansa Stark was a hostage,” he reminded her. “She is Arya’s blood.”

 

Nym had no answer to that. His cousin meant well, he knew that.  _If Arya knew what she did it might change things._ Varys told him of Tommen’s death and of how Nym was seen near the boy when he climbed into the saddle.  _He was a usurper._  Aegon did not know for certain Nym was responsible but the mention of the boy’s name in her presence made him suspect.

 

_If Cersei knew Nym might not have remained safe in Kings Landing._

He tried not to let the death trouble him but Arya’s voice niggled at him in his head. On top of that he learned of Myrcella’s illness, a suspected poisoning. It took little to realise who the expert in poisons was.  _Tyene might be responsible._  Again, he had no proof and they were his blood.

 

_They wanted vengeance and they made certain to get it._

He did not want to take the throne in the same way as Robert Baratheon, climbing over bodies of dead children. Myrcella still lived, he did know that but she was not expected to survive.  _It all comes back to blood, grief from blood spilled and blood spilled from grief._  He knew that the thirst for blood was not sated yet.

 

_The Martells hold Daenerys responsible for Quentyn’s death._

 

He knew it would be a problem when Daenerys arrived.  _It concerns me too._  With his reconciliation with Arya, his plans tasted bitterly of duty and burden. He wanted a dragon far more than he wanted his Aunt. The thought that he was parted from Arya and his Aunt might still refuse him a dragon, the sigil of their House, made him feel bitter and angry at first. When he truly thought on it he knew the dragons were his Aunt’s and that she had suffered to hatch them and suffered to bring them to Westeros but he had suffered his own losses and he did not fancy threat of burning if judged unworthy.

 

_I lost Duck and Lord Connington and Arya in pursuit of the throne._

He knew from the first time Arya looked at him wearing his crown.  _She told me she never wanted this life in Kings Landing._  He had acted impulsively with her from the moment he realised he cared for her, long ago back in Storm’s End. He fancied himself in love with her before he ever bedded her. He felt hollow when he thought of Lord Connington but the man had been right. He told Aegon how it would end.

 

 _I refused to listen._   _I knew Daenerys was coming and I pursued Arya anyway._

He had gained something from their interactions.  _It was not all folly._ He might have made things more difficult by growing to truly love her but she taught him things. She gave him information but not just that she helped him learn things about himself. Arya knew his faults just as he knew hers but she reinforced his strengths too. She also knew how to solve problems in a way others did not and she was wise beyond almost any other in his circle.

 

_I need her counsel and now she is gone._

 

He separated himself from Nym and moved away from the balcony as the army moved through the city. Varys had his little birds watching, Aegon knew he would gain nothing by continuing to look out over the city. He had other things to attend to. He made his way through the Red Keep to find Randyll Tarly. The white knights shadowed him silently but he still felt their presence. Lord Randyll turned when he heard Aegon enter the council room.

 

“Your Grace,” he said abruptly.

 

“Lord Randyll,” Aegon began. “Has there been any news of Cersei Lannister?”

 

“Not as yet,” Lord Randyll replied in a curt voice.

 

A moment of silence followed in which Aegon wrestled with his displeasure. Lord Randyll merely waited with a stony expression. Aegon realised once again what an imposing figure Tarly was. He stood a little straighter in an attempt to show he was not intimidated.

 

“You wished to see me my lord.”

 

“I did Your Grace.” He eyed Aegon with a shrewd expression and his demeanour promised an unpleasant conversation. “I wish to know what you hope to achieve from the information I gather in the market. It seems a somewhat selective justice.”

 

Many were sorry to see Arya leave. Aegon knew that the servants in the Red Keep became fond of her and his own men enjoyed her company far beyond their hopes of making a match. The Faith shared no such feelings. Neither did Randyll Tarly. Aegon quickly determined his meaning.

 

“It was not practical to delay the Northern army when we do not know the individuals at fault. You have your orders. Follow them as instructed. The Northern Queen will deliver justice to her own men.”

 

Randyll Tarly did not hide his disapproval.

 

“Forgive me Your Grace but she is a woman.”

 

Aegon did not manage to hide his grin. “I had noticed my lord.”

 

Lord Randyll did not smile. “Women have soft hearts.”

 

Aegon’s smile dried up thinking of his cousins, of Arya and of Lady Stoneheart. His Aunt came to mind as another example of how wrong the statement might be.

 

“I believe you to have a limited knowledge of women Lord Randyll.” He turned on his heel to signify the end of the conversation. “Follow the orders I gave. Do not question it again.”

 

Even though he stood firm the challenge still bothered him. He sent some of his own men North with the Northern army, partly in fulfilment to his promise to the Night’s Watch but also so that he might have his own forces in the North should they be needed. They were not to take the black. Aegon assured them they need only assist the men already at the Wall. They escorted some prisoners from the cells who  _were_ to take the black though Aegon did not send as many of the prisoners as he might have.

 

_I only sent those who did not bend the knee until forced to._

He knew he must spare these who surrendered as his ancestor, the first Aegon, had. It still felt difficult after the losses suffered. He might have executed them but Arya kept telling him of Jon’s request and of Stannis having already heeded him.  _If they do not follow orders the Lord Commander will execute them._  It still felt rather too merciful. Their initial opposition to his rule should have sealed their deaths.

 

_If I made the decision before Arya resumed giving me counsel they might already be dead._

He would not dwell on the decision just as he tried not to dwell on Arya and her justice but the thought of Jaime Lannister unsettled him. The news was enough to make him want to go North with her but Ser Brynden counselled him against it. The Lady Brienne had shared Ser Jaime’s justification for killing his grandfather. Aegon doubted the truth of it. He spoke with the pyromancers and had the city searched but there was no sign of wildfire.

 

_Arya will not allow him to escape judgement._

 

She seemed in a fury at the mere thought of him. He felt certain Arya would see to Jaime Lannister just as he planned to see to Cersei. He would send men West soon. The arrangements were being put in place for part of his army to accompany those from the Riverlands. In the meantime Aegon just needed to focus on the matters still needing his attention. The Manderly fleet was due to arrive any day as was Magister Illyrio and provisions for the city.

 

Calm seemed to descend on King Landing once the Northmen left. Aegon rose in the morning to find that fewer petitioners required his time in court.  _The Faith are satisfied that Arya and her men are gone._  He resented that they held such power but the order Tommen made could not be undone easily. Maegor had found that out in the uprising and Aegon did not intend to repeat his mistakes. Varys advised him of the deaths it would cause to oppose them.

 

_I do not intend to be known as the Cruel._

 

The Faith Militant would need to willingly agree to disband and Aegon knew they would take no such action during winter.  _They insist they must_   _defend those who are defenceless in the realm._  As long as they were going into the Riverlands offering food and protection to septons, septas and the poor Aegon would look like the enemy if he appeared to hinder them.

 

_If I had the dragons I still might give them cause to think._

 

The Faith Militant might have tried to slay the dragons during Maegor’s time but they did not succeed, as far as Aegon knew. Aegon still thought the dragons might make the difference.  _They speak poorly of Daenerys_. The new High Septon held greater concerns about Daenerys than Arya. Between the dragons, the reported slave soldiers, the red priests and her parentage they deemed her highly unsuitable.

 

_They hate incest. They barely overlook my blood._

Aegon knew he needed to do good deeds and the dragons might do the rest. If the people viewed him as a good king  _and_ he had dragons the Faith would lose their power to oppose him. Even if a marriage to his Aunt meant more of the incest the Faith opposed, the people would not support their uprising. They would not want more war against a King who offered them hope.

 

He needed the ships to arrive and fast. He sat in the Council room half listening to his small council. His mind was occupied with the dragons and his Aunt. He thought back to what Lord Connington and Lemore told him of his birth.  _My father spoke of the dragons._  His father spoke of Aegon being part of the prophecy from the time of his birth. It sounded like madness until Daenerys hatched her dragons. With the beginning of his dreams it seemed certain Aegon had a purpose to fulfil.

 

_I am meant to have a dragon_

 

He felt Arya’s absence during the meeting. Even if he was only half listening, it was far too quiet. The discussion lacked passion, even with Nym and Asha Greyjoy present. He dismissed everybody but the Blackfish once it became clear that the meeting had no real agenda. Brynden Tully looked at him warily from across the table and Aegon fidgeted trying to decide how to begin.

 

“Arya told me of your plans,” Ser Brynden offered.

 

Aegon might have sighed with relief but the Blackfish knowing his intent to make a match with his Aunt did not make things easier. He cleared his throat and drummed his fingers on the table.

 

_How do I speak of my plan to make a match with my Aunt with the uncle of the woman I have bedded countless times?_

“Arya refused me,” he said very quietly, glancing to see who listened. “This is not what I wish but I must find a way to succeed Ser.” He lowered his voice even further. “The match had been planned for some time but I am no longer certain it might be made.”

 

The Blackfish went rapidly from looking rather uncomfortable to trying to contain his laughter.

 

“Are you asking for my advice on women?”

 

Aegon flushed and wished he had not opened his mouth. Ser Brynden appeared to be having a lot of difficulty gathering his composure. He reached for the water on the table and almost choked on it.

 

_I may as well forge on now._

“You are my Hand Ser,” he said defensively. “I require your counsel.”

 

Brynden Tully wiped a tear from his eye.

 

“My brother might have told you I am not the man to ask these things.” He grinned a little more before becoming serious. “You look worried.”

 

Aegon pressed his lips into a line and pushed his hair out of his eyes. He had it cut and it felt strange being shorter. His noticed his wounded hand finally bothered him a little less. He tried to gather his thoughts.

 

“I do not know my Aunt,” he said. “She does not know me. If Arya said no-“

 

“Forget about Arya,” the Blackfish said gruffly. His expression looked pained. “You cannot judge all women based on my niece. You must look at this match differently.” He paused. “It is a military decision.”

 

Aegon resisted the urge to tell Ser Brynden that he often felt like pursuing Arya required battle tactics too. He nodded instead.

 

“When Tyrion Lannister told me she might refuse me he said I would look like a beggar. She has dragons and a large army. She has sacked cities.”

 

The Blackfish inclined his head. “What of now?” he prompted.

 

“I have a large army,” he said slowly. “I have conquered most of Westeros and I have ascended to the throne. We will meet on more equal terms but for her dragons.”

 

Ser Brynden nodded. “You have the allegiance of most of the realm. You have earned the loyalty of the high lords. There are some who whisper still that Tywin Lannister killed Aegon Targaryen but it does not seem to hinder your rule.”

 

Aegon frowned. “The whispers never go away. The dead baby was not me.”

 

The Blackfish gave him an amused look. “Clearly, given you sit before us. Still she will think herself the only real Targaryen if she hears and believes the whispers.”

 

_This is why Harry Strickland insisted I need her too. Marrying Daenerys makes my claim more legitimate._

He touched the crown on his head. It still did not sit comfortably. He wondered if it ever would.

 

“I will convince her of who I am,” he said insistently. “She cannot think to displace me. I have the stronger claim and I sit the Iron Throne.”

 

Ser Brynden nodded. “She has dragons but you are not without advantages. If she is wise she will see the gain in making the match.”

 

_If she is wise..._

 

Aegon thought of Quentyn Martell again and hoped Daenerys did have some wisdom. He might form plans for when they met, arguments to persuade her to make the match but he did not know if he could convince her he truly desired it.  _I desire the dragons._  He hoped that this sacker of cities feared the curse of the kinslayer.

 

Magister Illyrio and the ships bringing provisions arrived together within the next week. The Magister greeted Aegon warmly, offering gifts as he always did. Aegon fought the boyish impulse to display affection to the man who had sheltered him. He had fond memories of Illyrio giving him sweets and telling him stories.

 

_I am King now._

He heard the cheering in the city as the offerings were dispensed. The repairs to the damage from both before Aegon arrived and from the battle itself proceeded slowly but steadily. Lord Randyll showed them some of the King’s justice for the aftermath of the battle and they now had some better supply of food even if it was still rationed.

 

Aegon might have slept easier if not for the dreams. They came to him even more violently that night. He saw the dragons and then he felt it turn from excitement to war. He saw the flame once again and the woman with silver hair in a fury. Aegon felt the worry within him but it was the very last of the dream that truly brought the fear. He woke with Arya’s scream ringing in his ears.

 

He had not recovered yet when he heard the voices outside his chambers. He rose to find a messenger looking agitated. Daemon Sand stood guard and his expression told him the matter was not a trivial one.

 

“Two matters of importance, Your Grace,” he offered.

 

“Tell me,” Aegon prodded.

 

The messenger held parchment in his hands but he did not offer it immediately.

 

“The Northern fleet is sailing into the harbour Your Grace,” the man said nervously.

 

Aegon smiled. “This is good news.” He had hoped Manderley’s ships might arrive. He wished to send men to oppose the Greyjoys. The messenger did not return his smile and Aegon realised that the second matter must not be pleasant. “What of the other matter?”

 

The messenger passed him the parchment and Aegon took it to read.

 

_To His Grace, Aegon Targaryen,_

_Casterly Rock has fallen. It required very little taking as I am sure you can imagine. I am after all somewhat familiar with the castle of my birth. I pray you will remember me fondly though our parting was on less than desirable terms on my part. You will have questions and I will give you the answers in due time._

_I am in the company of Her Grace Daenerys Targaryen. I imagine this is still of great interest to you. I congratulate you on your successes and we extend you an invitation to attend us in the West. I’m sure you will find much of interest here._

_Tyrion Lannister_

_Rightful Lord of Casterly Rock (if it pleases you)_

 

It did not please Aegon.  _I thought him to be dead._  Aegon never considered that the dwarf might have eluded Haldon in order to pursue Daenerys and the dragons himself. He dressed quickly and roughly, trying to concentrate on the people involved rather than the dragons. His dream lingered with him still. He strode through the castle and Varys joined him not long after he left his chambers.

 

“Summon the small council,” Aegon said tersely. “My Aunt has arrived in Westeros.”

 


	88. Chapter 88: Tyrion

**Chapter 88: Tyrion**

Tyrion Lannister made certain he was amongst the party to welcome Aegon Targaryen and his men. Daenerys waited within Casterly Rock. Tyrion needed to be amongst the first to see Aegon, to have a chance to smooth ruffled feathers and know something of what lay in the other Targaryen camp.

 

_He will be angry with me but I might have a chance to talk myself out of it._

He  _did_  manage to avoid Daenerys snicking his head off and she had no prior acquaintance with him. Aegon had seemed to find him amusing at the very least as long as Tyrion resisted the urge to bait him. The princeling even had Connington save Tyrion’s life, not that Tyrion appreciated it at the time.

 

_Connington will be the real challenge. Even if Aegon accepts the tale that cold whoreson will want me dead regardless._

He rode forth under Ser Barristan’s wary eye, Grey Worm and his unsullied keeping close as well as Rakharo and some of the Dothraki. Tyrion did not like that. He would rather the sellswords be in his company than the Dothraki but Daenerys was not a complete fool.

 

_She knows they cannot be trusted._

The Unsullied and the Dothraki were blindly loyal to Daenerys. The Kingsguard knight however appeared strained.  _He is fond of his silver queen but he now fears that he supports the wrong claimant._  Many voiced doubts over Aegon’s true identity and Tyrion knew Ser Barristan must be one hoping that Aegon was a pretender. Tyrion himself did not much care either way.

 

_Whoever plays the game best will win out in the end._

Tyrion wondered what schemes the eunuch and cheesemonger had in play. They would have to know by now that Daenerys was no pliant girl who might melt at the sight of a pretty face claiming to be her nephew. Illyrio said it himself when Tyrion was in his company.  _Daenerys is a true Targaryen_   _and_   _the blood of Aegon the Conqueror runs through her veins._  Aegon would need to keep that in mind if he had any hope of success.

 

_It all depends on if he still wants to keep to the plan. He is still unwed._

His prompt response to Tyrion’s invitation seemed to suggest he still hoped to make the match. Tyrion remembered the prince’s fury when Tyrion suggested Daenerys might refuse him.  _He has spent years in Westeros now, years battling and still waiting._  Tyrion wondered what effect those years had on the lad. The rumours about Arya Stark came to mind.

 

_Could he truly have been so foolish?_

They slowed as they drew closer to the camp and Tyrion eyed his companions warily.  _They are going to make things difficult._  He needed to watch his tongue, bide his time and see how things played out. It would be much easier if he had freedom but Daenerys seemed even more suspicious since taking Casterly Rock.

 

_She expects some sort of betrayal._

At least Victarion had not accompanied them. The Ironborn captain retreated to his ships, brooding on Daenerys' anger at his hiding the information about Aegon.  _I might have been selective in what I told her too but I would have been far cleverer about it._  Tyrion would have offered Daenerys enough information to let her think any omissions were accidental. The captain executed the men he claimed were responsible for the secrets, he held them up as an example while Daenerys watched on not quite impassively.

 

_He only gained himself some time. He can blame Euron all he likes but Daenerys is not convinced and neither am I._

 

Tyrion’s horse moved restlessly beneath him and he glanced back over his shoulder at the Rock.  _I have finally returned but it still is not mine._  He waited on the whims of hopeful kings and queens. When he looked back in front of him the banners of the visitors’ camp began to come into clearer view. The Targaryen banner featured prominently but that was no surprise.

 

Ser Barristan spoke alongside Tyrion, telling Greyworm of which House each banner represented.

 

“The Golden Company is with them.”

 

Tyrion heard the tone of Ser Barristan’s voice.  _That is a misstep on Aegon’s part._  The old knight fought against the Golden Company, cutting through them to slay Maelys the Monstrous, the last of the Blackfyre pretenders. Tyrion ignored the whispers. He wanted to see who else came to the party. He did not see the Griffins which puzzled him. He did see banners from the Riverlands, the Blackwoods and Pipers and the trout of House Tully.

 

_What is that foolish boy playing at?_

Daenerys knew her history or at least, her half mad brother’s version of it. She knew House Tully fought against the Targaryen cause. She also knew that the Golden Company laughed at Viserys when he asked for their help.  _She will not take this well._  The next banners he spotted made him feel true foreboding. It was unmistakably the gold spear piercing a red sun on an orange field.

 

_The last time I greeted that banner the man behind it almost cost me my life._

Tyrion could handle the Tully he knew must be behind the leaping trout flapping in the wind. He held prisoners within the Rock, Edmure Tully and Jeyne Westerling. Roslin Tully had been brought from the Twins too at some point prior to it falling though she did not see her lord husband until Tyrion had him freed and put under guard. Roslin appeared miserable and only her child brought her out of it. Tyrion expected some communication about  _them_ , especially with the Tully heir growing by the day. What did give him pause was Martells.

 

_Surely it is not Doran._

 

The gods would not be so kind as that. He heard Ser Barristan speculating beside him but the old man did not know them as Tyrion did. Selmy had left long before the Dornish visited Kings Landing. Selmy assumed Doran had made the trip but Tyrion knew him to be too ill.  _We are not dealing with a grieving father._  It would not be a cautious man.

 

Aegon seemed to have brought a fair share of the strength of his army with him. Tyrion ran his eye over the pitched camp and wondered if it would be war.  _If he even thinks it the dragons will settle that quickly._ Of course that depended on whether Daenerys might use them freely. While he was thinking a small party rode forth to greet them.

 

“Who comes?” a female voice rang out.

 

Tyrion quickly spurred his horse forward and the others followed him. He reined up not far from the mounted  _and armoured_  welcome party.

 

“Tyrion of House Lannister,” he replied.

 

He heard the others echo him with their own names but paid it little mind. Tyrion felt the same unease as he had that day, years earlier, when he saw the Dornish leader sitting slim and graceful in the saddle. The woman sat a sand steed and a young man beside her held the banner of Sunspear. Dornish banners flew behind her in the camp but Tyrion did not look away. She was buried in winter furs but she wore a high helm without the copper suns Oberyn bedecked everything in. In fact she wore nothing representing House Martell at all despite riding under the banner.

 

_It cannot be the princess. She would not dress below her station._

 

“My lady,” Tyrion said politely. “I have not had the pleasure.”

 

The man riding nearby her, a man Tyrion  _did_  have the pleasure of having met before, laughed. It echoed in his helm until he lifted his visor. Tyrion remembered the smile only it was not directed towards him.

 

“You are greeting the Lady Nymeria, my lord of Lannister,” Brynden Tully informed him. “Whether it will be a pleasure remains to be seen.”

 

_He manages to make the name Lannister sound like a blunt insult even as he smiles._

Tyrion knew this game. He smiled back even as the Dornishwoman removed her helm to reveal the widow’s peak she shared with her late father. She gave him a charming smile but Tyrion had seen those eyes before.  _Pray tell me, when will the justice be served?_  He could hear her say it now, just as Oberyn had so many times.

 

_Blood will be spilled over this._

Tyrion knew the Sand Snakes by reputation only but they were famed. He murmured his greeting before looking over the banners once more.  _Mayhaps Aegon is not a complete fool._  He made a show of looking over the different sigils and taking note of those he did not see. He did know that if Aegon formed one of the party he was hiding himself well. Tyrion thought back to the Shy Maid.

 

_He never was one to like hiding._

“Is our guest of honour not with you?” Tyrion asked.

 

A different man answered, a Lyseni who almost looked like a woman.

 

“The King is in camp holding council,” he said dismissively. “You will attend him once he is done.”

 

Tyrion heard muttering behind him. The unsullied remained silent but Tyrion suspected from the limited Dothraki he had learned that he heard the word coward. Tyrion thought something rather different.

 

“You are welcome to the hospitality of Casterly Rock,” he said. “Aegon might be more comfortable greeting Daenerys within the shelter of the castle.”

 

Brynden Tully gave him a knowing smile which showed that he knew as well as Tyrion that the Targaryen’s each sought the upper hand in the first meeting.  _He knows as well as I do the advantage of meeting on your own terms._ It was Nymeria who spoke in reply.

 

“Aegon is comfortable enough for now,” she said in an airy tone. “Is Daenerys too busy burning people to meet us herself?”

Ser Barristan sucked in his breath beside Tyrion. Tyrion made himself smile.  _This is a test and two can play at this game._  He expected Aegon to betray his eagerness for the dragons but clearly they meant to test the waters first.  _The Dornish will prey on any guilt she still carries but the others will test her restraint._ The choice of companions confused Tyrion but he hid that.

 

“Daenerys holds court,” he said politely. “I do not see the direwolf of Stark amongst your banners. Has the Lady Arya’s  _alliance_  with Aegon come to an end?”

He saw Brynden Tully’s expression darken and knew he landed his blow. Nymeria Sand laughed and Tyrion did not like the way she looked at him.

 

“The wolves have been called to the North,” she told him. “It is most sorrowful for me though I’m sure you might sleep better.” She smiled a sinister smile. “Arya and I have shared views on justice and a common interest in Lannisters.”

Tyrion made himself smile and nod.  _May the Mother have mercy on us._ He supposed that the absence of Arya Stark made things a little easier with Daenerys at least aside from avoiding the girl mayhaps acting on a grudge against him. The situation might be better controlled though the truth of the rumours about the girl would be a little more difficult to determine. It seemed the Dornish might be Daenerys' larger concern.

 

 _What might have called the Stark girl North now? Mayhaps Aegon sent her North at the prospect of dragons._ If Tyrion had to choose between a woman and the chance of a dragon he suspected he might make a similar choice. He pushed the memory of Tysha away as he thought on it.

 

Tyrion’s part in the exchange halted momentarily when Ser Barristan intervened to swap pleasantries with Brynden Tully.  _They know one another from the war._  It served to ease tension and they entered the camp peacefully enough when urged. Tyrion listened closely to the conversation when it resumed, keeping a wary eye on Nymeria Sand.

 

“Ser Brynden,” Ser Barristan said politely. “Are you here about Lord Edmure?”

 

Brynden Tully hesitated before answering with much more warmth and respect than he showed Tyrion.

 

“That is the larger part of my reason for coming Ser. I also speak as the Hand of the King.”

 

 _That makes things even more interesting._ Tyrion knew Connington would not hear him and his influence over Aegon was strong.  _If Connington is not Hand then something went awry._  He waited while the two knights spoke about the hostage Lord Edmure.

 

“What befell Lord Connington?” Tyrion asked.

 

The Lyseni responded.

 

“He fell taking Kings Landing. If you are wise you will not speak of it to Aegon.”

 

Tyrion saw the tension at the mention of Connington’s name but he buried his curiosity for the moment.  _For once I might hold my tongue._  He could find out how Connington met his end later. In the meantime he needed to keep his wits about him as they were escorted into the heart of Aegon’s camp. Many of the men only glanced at them, seeming far more preoccupied with looking at the sky.

 

_They watch for the dragons._

“Is there any news of my lady wife?” he asked Brynden Tully after he dismounted and they were shown through to a tent to wait.

 

The knight stopped still and frowned at Tyrion.

 

“Your kinslaying cursed the both of you. It pains me to think of what Cat’s daughter might have suffered for being attached to you.”

 

It was on the tip of Tyrion’s tongue to tell him a thing or two about what being attached to Sansa had done to him.  _He will not want to hear it._ Everybody believed Tyrion to be Joffrey’s killer.

 

“I take it that is a no then,” he replied instead.

 

Brynden Tully gave him a long look and did not answer. Tyrion and the rest of his companions were left with Nymeria Sand and soon greeted by newer faces. Tyrion did not know these men, their names were not familiar. They watched Nymeria warily while the Dornishwoman sat and spoke with an uncomfortable Barristan Selmy. The Sand Snake made no more mention of burning but the tension remained.

 

They supped on meagre food and dregs of wine before being brought to another tent. Aegon Targaryen sat on a campstool, his head bent over a book. Braziers spread enough warmth that the young man did not wear furs. Instead he wore a black doublet, the three headed dragon etched into the front of it. He closed the book quickly when they were announced and raised his head to look at them. Tyrion saw the narrowed eyes and the twist of the young man’s mouth before his features fell into a smile.

 

“I thought you dead Hugor.”

 

Tyrion thought quickly before responding. “I am as surprised at my living as you are Your Grace."

 

He tilted his head to look at Aegon while the Targaryen pondered his words. The young man was still lithe and Tyrion expected if he stood he would be even taller than when they last met. Minus the blue hair he was more comely, his eyes clearly violet and his hair silver gold like Daenerys’. A crown sat atop his head and he wore it as confidently as might be expected of a Targaryen. He sported a scar down one side of his face but unlike the wound inflicted on Tyrion, Aegon’s seemed more of a minor blemish with all his other advantages than a true disfigurement.

 

“Yes,” Aegon said slowly. “You live and you are now well acquainted with my Aunt. Lord Connington said you wanted to escape us.”

 

Tyrion did not see the smiling lad he once met before him. He wished the others were not present.

 

“You must not think I planned this,” he replied, using his best wounded voice.

 

“Must I?” Aegon stopped smiling. “Somebody once told me to trust no one.”

 

Tyrion did not have to think long to remember who said it.  _Well he has me there._  Before he had the chance to respond Aegon looked away and beckoned to the woman behind him. Tyrion saw her when he entered. She at least had given him a fairly warm smile, playful as she always seemed to be.

 

“My lady,” Aegon said softly. “Will you bring our guests some of the Dornish red?”

 

Lemore rose and Tyrion noted she did not wear her septa’s robes.  _She is dressed like a highborn lady._  He took a cup and managed to avoid the temptation to look down her gown as she poured the wine. Lemore gave him another smile before she stood tall again. Tyrion took a good mouthful of the wine, watching Nymeria Sand move to Aegon’s side. She watched him with amusement and her eyes flicked to his cup. Tyrion spat the wine back into it.

 

“You are not drinking wine Your Grace?”

 

Aegon gave him a long look before glancing at the lady Nymeria. He began to laugh.

 

“You promised you would behave my lady Nym.”

 

Nymeria Sand smiled. “I did as you asked Your Grace. If the Imp thinks we might harm him that it his own guilt speaking.” She quickly approached, took the cup from Tyrion’s hand and sipped from it. “Fear not, it is not poisoned.”

 

Tyrion eyed her warily when he took the cup back and drank the contents. He remembered the others in the tent and turned to look. Ser Barristan had refused wine but he was staring at Lemore. Grey Worm stood like a statue looking at Aegon and Rakharo’s eyes scanned the tent as though he expected some treachery. Tyrion returned his attention to Ser Barristan before looking back to Lemore. The septa looked uncomfortable.

 

“You knew the Lady Ashara Dayne did you not Ser?” Aegon asked.

 

Tyrion studied him, wondering what game he played. Ser Barristan was tasked with finding out what he might about Aegon. They all were but Tyrion knew the Kingsguard knight was Daenerys' most trusted man in terms of information about her family. She tasked him above all others with determining the truth of whether Aegon was indeed a pretender.

 

_He might be a famed knight but he behaves now like a fool._

“I did,” Ser Barristan said stiffly. “She was one of Princess Elia’s ladies in waiting. I thought her dead.”

 

Tyrion knew the story. The sister of Ser Arthur Dayne threw herself from a tower.  _Her body was never found._  He looked at Selmy again and saw how pale the knight was. He followed his gaze once more to Lemore. The lady had lowered her eyes and she looked flushed.

 

“Forgive me ser,” she murmured. “The lie was necessary to keep Aegon safe.”

 

Tyrion wanted to laugh now. He wished Varys were there so he might determine how many plots within plots the eunuch still kept buried from him.  _I knew she had secrets but I was too busy thinking with my cock to pry further after uncovering Aegon and Connington._  He took some enjoyment from Ser Barristan’s discomfort. The knight always looked upon Tyrion with silent judgement.

 

_It is about time he felt the sting of being kept out of confidences._

 

The rest of the tale was much as Tyrion might have surmised. He waddled over to a campstool as Ashara told it and managed to seat himself. He even managed to get hold of the wine Ser Barristan had rejected. When silence fell Selmy still looked wounded.

 

“Varys might have told me.”

 

Aegon paused for the briefest of moments. “You were serving the usurper.”

 

Tyrion began to feel a twinge of sympathy for the knight. The words were mere fact and not said unkindly but they impacted all the same. Grey Worm managed to break through the tension to ask a question Tyrion might have asked himself.

 

“Why did you bring so many men to meet Her Grace?” he asked in High Valyrian.

 

Aegon smiled and replied in the same tongue. “I might have brought less but as it was I still brought fewer than I might have. There are many I left disappointed. Those from the Riverlands want to recover their liege lord, the rest...”

 

Tyrion finished his sentence. “They want to see the dragons.”

 

He waited some time for the opportunity he had hoped for. Aegon dismissed him rather abruptly and he was escorted from the tent. He joined the other Unsullied and Dothraki musing all the while over what they might be speaking of in his absence. A messenger left the camp, sent to notify Daenerys of the delay and to tell her that her envoys were enjoying Aegon’s hospitality. Tyrion grinned at the last part of the message.

 

“You are invited to join them.”

 

Daenerys would be impatient inside the castle but Tyrion did not doubt she would remain there. She had been Queen far longer than Aegon had been King.  _She knows how these games are played._  Tyrion felt impatient himself but his was more an impatience for the knowledge he sought. He finally received the summons to return to Aegon’s presence. Brynden Tully and Aegon alone remained in the tent though two Kingsguard knights kept a close watch over proceedings.

 

“How did you manage to convince them to let you see me on my own Your Grace?” he asked.

 

Aegon did not break eye contact.

 

“I told them I would not see Daenerys until I received answers from you. They do not seem to like you much.”

 

“I cannot possibly think why Your Grace,” Tyrion replied. “I am such a likeable fellow. Did they tell you how I came to be in their company?”

 

Aegon nodded but he did not smile. “They still think I wish you ill.”

 

Tyrion gave him a wary look.

 

“After the greeting from the Lady Nymeria I cannot imagine why.”

 

The corners of Aegon’s mouth quirked.

 

“It might have been worse. I took care in choosing which of my cousins might accompany me.”

 

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “There are worse?”

 

Aegon did not answer him. Instead he pushed his hair out of his eyes and studied the palm of his hand with a frown.

 

“Were you truly taken from Selhorys against your will?”

 

Tyrion hoped he looked suitably offended.

 

“I advised you to return to Westeros with an army to trouble my sweet sister Your Grace. Do you truly think I meant to miss her downfall?”

 

He saw Brynden Tully frown.

 

“She is your sister.”

 

Tyrion made a dismissive gesture.

 

“She has always hated me. She wanted me dead long before I thought to harm her and I owe her a debt. A Lannister pays his debts.”

 

Ser Brynden still looked disapproving, uttering “kinslayer” as a curse. Aegon looked rather less disapproving.

 

“You might find her,” he said. “Cersei eluded us but you might find her. You know the West. You know where she might go.”

 

Tyrion studied his expression and recognised it. It was hatred. Tyrion knew hatred well. He nodded. He had suspicions as to what Cersei might do though but the thought of her without her full power as Queen gave him pause. Cersei without all the authority and trimmings of Kings Landing almost did not seem like the Cersei he knew.

 

_She will be desperate and fuelled by rage._

 

“I still do not trust you,” Aegon proclaimed, “but you may earn my trust again if you give me leal service. I need to know of my Aunt. I see she will not come to me and I must know what to expect.”

 

Tyrion did not bother to feign surprise. He knew the moment he was summoned that Aegon would ask this of him. He made a show of thinking before he responded.

 

“Daenerys will pretend to be naive but for the most part it is not true. She is very much as I described to you when I spoke of her on the  _Shy Maid._  She is a conqueror and she has the pride expected of a queen. I do not believe she will offer you a dragon but she will not burn you on sight. I hear that Prince Quentyn approached the dragons without her and that sealed his doom. They are wild and there are few people they like.”

 

He was not surprised to see Aegon’s expression darken.  _He is wroth at the idea of her refusing him a dragon._  Brynden Tully remained calm.

 

“What of her intentions to marry?”

 

Tyrion watched the knight’s expression. It seemed rather odd he be the one to ask given the rumours. Aegon remained broody but Tyrion directed his response to the young man nonetheless.

 

“Daenerys may or may not consider your suit but she mourns another. You will not win her heart.”

 

Aegon frowned at that.

 

“You speak of the sellsword.”

 

Tyrion did not know how he came to hear of it.  _Naharis boasted of bedding the queen._ Still, the rumours travelling as far as Westeros made matters between the two Targaryens rather more interesting.

 

“Her choice of paramour was rather less bold than yours Your Grace. When I suggested you might have any maid I did not think you might choose that one.”

 

He cursed his tongue the moment the words were uttered. Aegon flushed and Brynden Tully rose and looked as though he wished to spill blood. Tyrion thanked the gods that Tully did not have a sword on his person. Aegon looked no less angered.

 

“You will not speak disrespectfully of Arya Stark.”

 

Brynden Tully remained silent but he stalked out of the tent with a face as black as the doublet Aegon wore. Tyrion turned his attention back to Aegon.

 

“It must make things awkward working so closely with him.”

 

Aegon’s jaw worked and his fist clenched.

 

“Brynden Tully is one of my most trusted advisors. The next time you utter a word about his niece you will be expected to defend those words with steel.”

 

Tyrion did not need to test him any more so he made his apologies.  _The truth of it is plain enough for a blind man._  He could not help one more remark.

 

“If you wish to protect the lady’s honour you might be rather busy overseeing trials. The Greyjoy men were eager to tell of the rumours.”

 

That distracted Aegon. His anger gave way to clear confusion.

 

“My Aunt is speaking with the Greyjoys?”

 

Tyrion smiled. “She does more than speak with them. They are her allies.”

 

Aegon fell silent for a brief while before seeming to remember Tyrion was still there.

 

“You may leave now.”

 

Tyrion left him to ponder whatever thoughts he had provoked. Aegon clearly did not wish to share them with him. He thought they might leave for the Rock but instead they remained in camp. Tyrion found he did not mind. The pavilion the men gathered in seemed quite cheery and the sellswords told him the things he wanted to learn even as Ser Barristan stood over Tyrion disapprovingly still.

 

_The Golden Company bothers him less than it might have now he knows of Ashara Dayne._

 

It took little to find out about Connington’s death. The traitor filling him with arrows did not surprise Tyrion. The greyscale did. The men still speculated about how Connington contracted the disease but Tyrion knew.  _Saving me from drowning sealed his fate._  He wondered that Aegon had not killed him on sight.

 

The Lyseni who met him outside the camp never strayed far. Tyrion learned his name was Lysono Maar. The man was far more tight-lipped than many of the others. He liked asking questions and listening better than answering them. They sat together with Tyrion making up the bulk of the conversation while those around them laughed at his japes. Their attention shifted away from him when a woman entered. Tyrion did not think much of it until she gave a whistle and one of the men flung an axe at her person.

 

Tyrion gasped involuntarily, a curse forming on his lips until the woman snatched the axe from the air. Laughter erupted around him. Tyrion watched as one of the sellswords gave a shout and the axe flew back across the tent. It felt as though everybody exhaled when it was caught again.

 

“Ironborn,” a man nearby muttered. “They are all bloody mad.”

 

Tyrion looked at Lysono Maar questioningly. The Lyseni smiled at him genuinely for the first time, no doubt amused by Tyrion’s momentary loss of composure.

 

“That would be Asha Greyjoy,” he informed him. “His Grace’s Mistress of Ships.”

 

“Is she mad?” Tyrion asked, thinking of Victarion.

 

Lysono shook his head. “If she thought it might benefit her she might let you think so. The woman does not lack cunning and her wit is a match for yours.”

 

Tyrion watched her with renewed interest.  _Aegon has a woman as Master of Ships._  The lords were unlikely to approve, especially given it was a Greyjoy woman yet the men in the tent seemed to accept her well enough. She saw him looking and grinned, pausing in flipping the dirk she now held in her hand.

 

_She is no Victarion._

 

“It seems there is no escaping Greyjoys,” he quipped.

 

A female voice behind him made him jump. “A shame the same might not be said of Lannisters. You should not have lived after father died though I suppose I do owe you some thanks for saving us the trouble of killing Lord Tywin.”

 

Nymeria Sand looked rather too calm uttering those words. She found a stool and sat gracefully.

 

“Pleased to oblige you,” Tyrion said dryly. “Aegon tells me we might have expected an even colder welcome from your sisters.”

 

Nymeria tossed her braid over her shoulder.

 

“He extracted a promise from me. I did not give it willingly but he implored me for the love I bear him. My sisters do not know him as well as I. They would not weaken if he asked. I would curse him for inflicting such fondness upon me if he were not kin.”

  
Tyrion knew what she spoke of. He recalled caring far more than he ever meant to of the fate of the prince long ago when he heard of his movements while in Volantis.  _He endears people to him._  Tyrion did not intend to be one of those people now. He needed to play the game and affection held no place in that.

 

Nymeria began to look rather more serious even as the merriment continued around them.

 

“Pray tell me, will Daenerys greet him as kin? You owe me the truth on account of my father.”

 

Tyrion looked around him and saw that only Aegon’s men were close. At some point Daenerys' envoys had been distracted and divided and were engaged in separate conversations. He saw Ser Barristan speaking with Ashara and the others talking to sellswords. Tyrion wanted to tell Nymeria that he owed her nothing.  _Oberyn cared nothing for me. He only wanted Gregor Clegane dead._  Instead he answered her.

 

“Daenerys craves family but she doubts Aegon. The things she has heard give her pause and she seems to expect betrayal. In truth I do not know how she might greet him.”

 

Nymeria’s voice lowered to a hiss. “I have not forgotten what happened to Quentyn. I can assure you than none of the Dornish have forgotten. If I see any sign, even a breath of treachery I will consider my promise to Aegon to be void no matter what pretty story Daenerys spins, dragons or no.”

 

Tyrion heard her father in every word.  _Aegon told her of Daenerys explanation of Quentyn’s death and it made no difference._ He smiled at her.

 

“I would expect nothing less.”

 

She eyed him as though she doubted him before nodding.

 

They remained in the camp overnight once darkness fell. When morning came Tyrion rose feeling rather eager to see what the day might bring. He stepped outside and found Aegon dressed in finery and ready to leave. He looked at the sky and Tyrion followed his gaze, unsurprised to see Drogon fly overhead.

 

“He hunts in the mornings Your Grace,” Tyrion explained. “You best hope he does not seek prey in the camp.”

 

Aegon clung to the reins of his horse more tightly and shot him a glare.

 

“I do not believe he will eat me my lord.”

 

_Then you are still a foolish boy playing a game you do not understand._

“He will do what Daenerys wills him to do,” he replied instead. “I expect she will call him back before he strays too far.”

 

As if on cue the dragon horn sounded. Even with the distance between them he still saw many of the visitors shudder. The noise still jarred his nerves even after hearing it many a time. They mounted up and began the ride back to the castle. Tyrion saw that Aegon brought Nymeria Sand and Asha Greyjoy with him as well as representatives from the Golden Company. Brynden Tully remained behind.

 

_There will be a lot of explaining to do._

He mused over the Hand and the King both attending the West.

 

“Who governs Kings Landing in your absence Your Grace?” he called out to Aegon.

 

The reply was abrupt. “Randyll Tarly.”

 

Tyrion did not think it a good choice but he held his tongue. Tarly might be able but he would not be loved. He excelled in military decisions but in harsh winter when the people were struggling a more gentle hand might be needed. Tyrion remembered the riots within the city and the undercurrent of anger in the streets.

 

_Aegon best have the eunuch pulling some strings behind the scenes. With Tarly in command his welcome back to Kings Landing might not be what he hopes._

They dismounted once within the grounds of Casterly Rock and Tyrion led the way. Aegon walked more slowly than might be expected, something Tyrion was duly grateful for.  _I am tired of lagging behind in the castle which should be mine._  He glanced at the young man and noted the furrowed brow.

 

_He does not feel confident in this meeting._

Unsullied came to escort them to Daenerys and Tyrion was forced to quicken his pace. They entered the hall and found Daenerys seated in the high seat his father once sat. She wore the white lion pelt her khal husband gifted her and the leathers she often wore when riding Drogon.

 

_She wishes to appear a conqueror rather than a queen._

Tyrion looked at Aegon. The furrowed brow was gone and the corners of his mouth quirked a little as though he wished to smile. It did not last long. Daenerys did not rise to greet him and Missandei announced the names of the guests.  _Somebody must have reported ahead._  When she finished she introduced Daenerys.

 

“You stand before Daenerys Targaryen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Stormborn, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons and...”

 

Daenerys raised one hand and halted the introduction.

 

“Thankyou Missandei, I believe they know who I am.”

 

She remained seated with her gaze fixed on Aegon. The hall fell into silence as the two looked upon one another for the first time. Tyrion watched them as eagerly as any other witness in the room, waiting to see what might come of the two claimants in their first meeting.

 

_Now it truly begins._

 

 


	89. Chapter 89: Brienne

**Chapter 89: Brienne**

Days turned into weeks and Brienne tried to focus on her young charge. Rickon could not decide whether he wished to pull away from her or keep her close. The end result was something in between. Aly Mormont took much of the responsibility for running the castle and Rickon was called on to act as Lord when needed.

 

_He is becoming independent once more._

The wild boy who returned to Winterfell remained wild. He rode his pony in the woods with the Skagosi and Osha and did not suffer concerns for his safety. Brienne thanked the gods he did not travel further. He did express a wish to ride South to meet the silent sisters bringing Duck’s remains. When Brienne asked him why, he chewed his lip in a way which reminded Brienne of his sister.

 

“Father was meant to return,” he replied. “He never did. I don’t want that to happen to Duck too.”

 

Brienne felt troubled at that. She had seen the statue of Eddard Stark in the crypts not long after arriving in Winterfell. She knew it did not take years for the silent sisters to bring the dead to their final resting place.  _Mayhaps they decided to shelter during the snows?_  No sooner did she have the thought before she dismissed it. She knew more than anybody else that there were greater dangers than the snow.

 

_The roads have not been safe for some time now._

 

To put the boy’s mind at ease Brienne took his concerns to the young She-Bear. Aly looked no less troubled but she sent just a few men to greet the silent sisters and escort them to Winterfell. Lord Rickon did not look terribly relieved when she informed him. He responded by telling her he was going to sit before the heart tree.

 

His attachment to the godswood was another matter of concern. It had become more than an observance of the gods. Lord Rickon spent a great deal of time there now, even looking impatient at the end of their training sessions if Brienne tried to speak with him past a certain point. When she finally asked him about it, he looked as though he might not tell her.

 

“The trees speak to me,” he finally whispered, looking around as though fearful somebody might hear.

 

The confession did not put Brienne’s mind at ease.

 

“Might I accompany you some time, my lord?”

 

Rickon became stubborn. He shook his head and stood his ground.

 

“The voice is meant for me,” he argued. “It knows my name and Shaggy sits with me when it speaks.”

 

Brienne did not know what to do with that knowledge. Her first thought was that the boy imagined the voice. On further reflection she felt more than unsettled by the notion of talking trees. The Old Gods were not welcoming of Southron folk and Brienne tried not to be intimidated by the face carved in the weirwood when she did pass it in the godswood. Osha appeared unconcerned.

 

“The gods speak to him,” she said simply. “It isn’t for us to question.”

 

Brienne thought differently but she held her tongue.  _He is only a boy and he has suffered enough._  Rickon did not tell her what the voice said but she could not imagine it being good. Once she thought she heard her own name whispered through rustling leaves. It shamed her to admit her fear but she fled from it, choosing to avoid the heart tree from that time.

 

_They are not my gods and they will love me not._

 

Letters continued to come from Arya Stark. The formal sounding letter informing Brienne that Arya wished for her continued service came as a relief.  _She does not think I betrayed her._  The young woman might still be unhappy but her words were important to Brienne. Brienne put the letter with her things, feeling far less burdened. To be dismissed from service would be a stain on her honour.

 

_I did what I thought best in an uncertain time._

A raven also came from the Wall. In it Jon Snow expressed regret that Rickon must shoulder the burden of being the Stark in Winterfell while so young. He told of his pride in his brother and in writing of his service with the Night’s Watch he repeated the phrase so often heard from Arya’s lips, the Stark words,  _Winter is Coming._  Rickon looked very serious, older than his eight years when he read the words. Brienne asked him why.

 

“Arya says it means more than what people think,” he said, his childish voice at odds with the gravity of the words uttered. “Osha says so too. It means harder times. It means the Others.”

 

Brienne dearly wanted to have words with the wildling woman. Lord Rickon feared enough without Osha telling him of worse things to come. She wanted to tell Rickon the Others were a myth but the words froze on her tongue. She remembered Arya speaking with Jon Snow and dead rising not just in the North.

 

_Who am I to say what might be falsehood after witnessing Lady Stoneheart._

 

“We will have better times,” she reassured him. “Your sister will return after the war.”

 

Rickon fell silent at that. She knew what troubled him. Some of the men in Winterfell argued about the crown. They did not feel it belonged to Arya Stark. They wanted Lord Rickon crowned.  _His claim is stronger than hers._  Brienne knew that Arya would give up the crown gladly. She even said it in one of her letters but Lord Rickon did not want it. When pushed he exploded.

 

“It belongs to my brother,” he said in a raised voice.

 

Silence fell at those words. The crown Robb Stark wore remained in the chambers reserved for Arya Stark. Brienne recalled what she knew of King Robb.  _He lost the support of some of his bannermen._  The young King in the North put his honour first and made enemies, His sister did not seem to have the same problem but Brienne knew the Northmen were united at first by their desire for vengeance,

 

_She is giving them what they want._

 

Brienne knew it still might not be enough judging from things she overheard. Aly Mormont might not force Rickon into full Lordship yet, she took on duties as castellan but she was under pressure to make him take on more responsibility. The lords bannermen and advisors in Winterfell, as few as they were, wanted him to learn his duties and they did not accept his age as an excuse.

 

Aside from that ravens were being sent from the South. Men amongst Arya’s army were unhappy with delays. Reports suggested some wished to return home while others just wanted their vengeance. Brienne wondered whether they told Arya of this but Aly shook her head.  _They want Winterfell to intervene so they do not break their oath._ Brienne knew that Arya likely knew of her men’s divided wishes, she seemed to have a way to find out such information but it did not bode well. The young She-Bear refused to act against Arya but the grievances were unlikely to melt away.

 

Brienne pushed those concerns aside and observed Rickon over the following days, wondering whether she should inform the Queen of her brother’s new habits. Rickon’s attachment to the godswood did not abate. Wyman Manderly came upon her when watching Rickon hurry to the heart tree once again with Shaggydog.

 

“Do not fear for him my lady,” Lord Wyman said amiably. “The North is strong in that one. The gods have seen him through hard times. It is understandable.”

 

He made too much sense to dismiss his words. Brienne did not need to burden Arya with what surely must seem like a trivial matter while in the midst of war.  _They are her gods too._  None of the Northerners shared her concerns or fears. As long as Rickon stayed within the castle grounds and stayed relatively peaceful they seemed content to let him be.

 

_They will think me a Southron fool if I press the issue._

 

Brienne’s thoughts often wandered to Sansa. Rickon made mention of his other brother, Brandon Stark. He went quiet just as quickly but it made Brienne think of the Stark siblings yet to be found. She still felt some failure that she had not located Sansa and those feelings did not leave her when the next raven came bearing the Lannister seal and addressed to Brienne rather than Aly Mormont or Rickon.

 

_Lady Brienne,_

_I am writing to tell you I located a girl in the Vale bearing a rather suspicious resemblance to my missing goodsister. You need search no longer. I will use my skills of persuasion to encourage her to accompany me to the Riverlands however we both know that is no place for the girl._

_The Northmen will likely want to kill me on sight. I sent a raven to the other girl. It is not like to win me much reprieve. Mayhaps you might be able to convince them otherwise. It was an oath we both swore together and the girl seems less than fond of my company. It seems fair we fulfil it together._

_Jaime Lannister_

 

Brienne’s hopes rose even as she felt a sense of foreboding over Jaime’s plans. Even with his time imprisoned by Lady Stoneheart he continued to have a reckless streak.  _He is right about the Brotherhood not being a place for Lady Sansa._ Jaime clearly did not know the Brotherhood did not exist anymore, not in the form they had known. She had no way to warn him. No raven would reach him and she did not know how far he must travel.

 

_I must meet with him._

Her request to leave was met with all the coldness of winter. The young She-Bear looked at the parchment, reading quickly and when she raised her eyes they were full of disdain.

 

“This is a Lannister trick. We will not be fooled twice my lady.”

 

Brienne tried to explain but Jaime’s flippant wording did not help her cause.  _If only he had written of the matter formally._  Nobody offered any support to her plea. Lannisters were enemies, no matter which Lannister. Brienne’s words fell on deaf ears. Lannisters killed Ned Stark and Lannisters killed Catelyn and Robb Stark. Lannisters tried to have Arya Stark killed.

 

_Arya might be fighting against Lannister soldiers while we debate this._

 

She tried to use reason. “Jaime is not his twin. Even if you doubt him, can you afford to take the risk if it is the Lady Sansa?”

 

Aly Mormont was immovable. “Even if I thought that, we do not have the men to spare.”

 

Brienne knew she spoke the truth. Winterfell had few defenders and men had already been sent South to meet the silent sisters.

 

“I will go,” she finally decided. “I will go alone if need be.”

 

Her proclamation did not meet with approval. Aly Mormont looked stony faced.

 

“I never took you for an oathbreaker my lady.”

 

The accusation stung her.  _I am trying to uphold an oath._  Unfortunately Brienne knew the charge against her held merit. The oath to Catelyn Stark had been supplanted by that Brienne swore to the Lady Catelyn’s daughter. She sat with Lord Rickon at dinner and looked into the child’s blue eyes, blue like his mother’s. Brienne might leave him in the care of the others in Winterfell but Arya put her trust in Brienne.

 

_Rickon is damaged enough by people leaving him to go South._

It did not stop her feeling conflicted. She still gathered her possessions, as few as they were, preparing to leave if the opportunity presented itself. Winter storms made the decision for her. The snow drifts outside were deep enough for a horse to sink into. Brienne would not do anybody good if she persisted in leaving.

 

The people in the castle spent a great deal of time huddled in the Great Hall, trying to make good use of the timber available to keep fires burning. Despite the castle undergoing repairs it was still broken.  _It will take more than hammering timbers together to rebuild it._  Brienne heard of how warm the castle used to be before Ramsay Snow put it to the torch. She sat feeling miserable, a bowl of rather cold stew in front of her.

 

“The She-Bear told me she wrote to Arya,” Rickon announced.

 

Brienne wondered how perceptive Rickon truly was or whether he simply uttered the words innocently.  _Aly has told Arya of Jaime._  She hoped that more than one raven had been sent. In the storm there was no guarantee of letters reaching their desired recipients. Theon Greyjoy trembled at his place on the bench.

 

_He does that every time he hears her name._

“She must know her name,” he muttered. “No one is not a name.”

 

Brienne paid him little mind. She pitied the wretch. He conversed with Rickon well enough but his time with the Bolton’s seemed to have broken something in him. His mind did not seem sound. As if to prove her point he began to laugh like a madman when the young She-Bear announced that a letter had arrived from Stannis Baratheon.

 

“Lord Stannis wishes to foster his daughter at Winterfell while he aids the men at the Wall. He states that the Nightfort is no place for a girl and I must agree with him there.”

 

The mere mention of his name brought the grief and anger back for Brienne. She remembered the shadow slaying Renly. The sigil on the letter showed he still thought himself King even if Alysane did not call him by the title.  _I should have killed him on my first day here._  She might have if Arya had not assured him safety.

 

_I will not spare him at our next meeting._

Rickon cared little whether Shireen Baratheon came to Winterfell. Brienne might have protested but she did not intend to punish the girl for the sins of her father.  _He is a kinslayer whether he admits it or not._  His raven reaching them was a miracle in the midst of the storm. Brienne hoped that meant that Arya might receive her letter from Aly Mormont too.

 

_Mayhaps she will be merciful._

 

Brienne had told her of Jaime and the then Lady Arya seemed to listen. She did not make any promise of leniency but she did not speak of killing Jaime either.  _He might yet have his chance to fulfil the oath._  She did not feel confident in her hope. She did not know what Arya might do if Jaime did not guard his tongue. It would not matter that he was not the same man.

 

_She will not forgive him pushing her brother from the tower._

The snow did not stop falling for many days. When it finally slowed, a raven arrived. It did not come from the North. They received no further communication from the Wall. This raven came from the South, from Queen Arya. It came from Kings Landing and reported that the battle had been a success.

 

“She must return soon,” she told Rickon.

 

Rickon did not smile. “Nymeria is hurt.”

 

Brienne recalled him knowing of Arya’s injuries before the raven from Aegon came. The direwolf  _was_  hurt but he did not read it in the letter.

 

“How do you know?”

 

Rickon called Shaggydog to him. “He knows,” he said simply.

 

Brienne knew she should not be surprised but she felt the familiar unease at the connection between the boy and the wolf.  _Just because I do not understand it does not make it wrong._  Shaggydog protected Rickon. Whatever bound them together acted as a positive force for the boy.

 

Arya’s injured direwolf did not concern Brienne apart from the delay it might impose.  _Lady Sansa has been too long on the road already_. She feared for what might happen even if she trusted Jaime to do his best to keep her safe.  _The Riverlands is not the place for her_. Brienne did not think it to be less harmful without Lady Stoneheart there. The men who likely remained were not men Brienne would know well and certainly not men she might want in the presence of a highborn lady. She did not know how to voice her concerns again.

 

Aly was even less moved this time. “If it were true her family in the Vale would have told us she was there. Do not believe the word of a Lannister.”

 

This time Brienne could not in good conscience heed her. She did not tell Rickon of his other sister for fear that Jaime might be mistaken, however slim the chance but she began to prepare him for her leaving. He became very angry.

 

“I can order you to stay.”

 

Brienne nodded. “You could do that my lord but I made a promise to your mother.”

 

Tears filled his eyes. “They will want me to hang you.”

 

She felt a chill down her spine.  _It would not be the first time._ Brienne still remembered the burn of the noose around her neck.

 

“I still must go my lord.”

 

Rickon began to look stubborn. “I can go with you. I can use a sword. Osha can come and the Skagosi.”

 

_This is not going well._

 

“You must be the Stark in Winterfell.”

 

Rickon howled rather like his wolf. He ran from her, Shaggydog at his heels. A check of the grounds after dinner found him in the crypts once more. Aly Mormont could not convince him to come out.

 

“Brienne cannot leave,” he said in a sniffly voice.

 

Sansa needed Brienne more than Rickon. Sansa had far more need of Brienne’s sword and protection. She finally tried to tell him but he only shook his head.

 

“People keep going the wrong way to fight.”

 

Osha’s voice behind them cut through the dark crypts. “He is not wrong.”

 

Brienne stood her ground. “I am needed more elsewhere.”

 

She left the angry boy in the crypts.  _He survived without me before, he will survive again now._  She did not believe he would let them hang her, not truly. He was not his sister and certainly not Lady Stoneheart, to hang a friend suspected of betrayal, especially if the actions were intended to serve the family.

 

_I am needed more in the South. When I return with Lady Sansa they will understand._

 

She no sooner finished telling herself this, her hands working to prepare her supplies to leave on the morrow when the horn blew. Brienne thought to leave the others to greet new arrivals but the alarm she heard within the castle changed her mind. She made her way out to the lookout to see the sentry and in an instant she understood.

 

A crowd gathered outside the gates of Winterfell. The formation of both men and women counted in the dozens, if not hundreds.

 

“It is Skagosi m’lady,” the sentry informed her.

 

“I see that,” she replied.

 

When she reached the yard Rickon had emerged. He looked pale and worried and did not acknowledge their quarrel.

 

“I saw it,” he said softly.

 

The gathering at the gate spoke loudly, the clamour of voices saying things Brienne did not understand. The Skagosi from within the castle joined their voices to it and although Brienne did not know the old tongue, she recognised panic when she saw it. It took Rickon to translate for them.

 

“The seas get colder and soon the ice will spread. Dead things move under the water and when the true cold comes they will rise. They will come for us.””

 

Fear gripped Brienne’s heart and her hopes of aiding Sansa vanished in an instant. Her sword was needed in Winterfell after all.

 


	90. Chapter 90: Daenerys

**Chapter 90: Daenerys**

 

Daenerys tried to steady her nerves as she looked upon the visitors. She kept her gaze on Aegon at first. He was unmistakeable even if he were not flanked by guards with white cloaks. His hair and eyes marked him as much as his proud bearing. She thought for a moment he might smile at her but it turned to a frown.

 

_He expected me to rise to greet him._

 

Dany had been Queen for too long to forget the lessons she had learned so quickly.  _I do not know him and I do not know that he is kin._  She was not prepared to humble herself and henceforth be seen as weak, as somebody to be trodden upon in order to gain any advantage. Men had tried to do so before and Dany had not forgotten what it was to be vulnerable and frightened.

 

_I am the mother of dragons and I will bow to no one._

 

She felt the tension rise in the room.  _He will want the dragons if nothing else._  Many before him had tried and Dany knew the look by now. Nobody hid it from her very well. She watched him and saw him clear his throat and shift awkwardly. Ser Jorah made a noise by her side and Dany offered the guests a smile, knowing that she must not push them. She wanted to be certain of motives, not make enemies.

 

“Welcome to Casterly Rock,” she said warmly.

 

Aegon nodded stiffly and she knew he still felt some annoyance.

 

“I have wished to meet you for some time Aunt Daenerys.”

 

Dany smiled in response.  _He has wished to see my dragons for some time._  She studied him, trying to see any resemblance to the brother she had only seen in a vision. Dany  _wanted_  him to be kin, she did not want to be the last of her House but she feared to be taken in by an imposter and she also feared what it might mean if he  _was_  kin.

 

_It will change everything and mayhaps not in a good way._

 

She once might have offered him anything freely but Dany no longer gave so freely.  _The dragon must have three heads._  Yet the vision she saw haunted her. If one of her dragons were to be ridden by the wrong person she knew countless people would suffer.

 

“I might have used your assistance in Meereen,” she told him.

 

He frowned. “I was to join you,” he said quickly. “The Volantenes had no ships to take us East and my men would perish on the Demon Road. We would have arrived late and been of little use to you.”

 

Dany wanted to believe him. “We might have conquered Westeros together,” she said carefully. “Joining our strengths would have ensured success.”

 

Aegon shook his head. “Forgive me Aunt but you did not return to Westeros. I wished the same but it matters little. We are both here now and I have reclaimed the throne that was meant for my father.”

 

Dany let the silence linger for a moment, trying to think of a tactful response. She glanced at his companions. Asha Greyjoy appeared almost amused. Nymeria Sand stood to attention, her eyes flicking between Aegon and Dany as if she feared to miss something. Her expression appeared far more neutral than Dany expected. The sellswords showed Dany and Aegon equal deference.

 

_Their allegiance is bought. Sellswords cannot be trusted._

She caught Tyrion’s eye and saw that the dwarf observed everything shrewdly. He looked as though he found the scene rather entertaining.  _He likes to play with people._  Dany turned her attention back to Aegon and chose her words carefully. She tried to keep her tone soft and to disguise her disapproval.

 

“My father reigned as king of the  _Seven_  Kingdoms.”

 

Aegon flushed. Nymeria Sand gave Dany a look filled with venom and Tyrion gave just the slightest shake of his head. Dany realised that Ser Barristan remained distant. Her white knight looked strained. He met her gaze only briefly.

 

_I must find out what it is that he discovered._

 

“Your father was also prone to burning people,” Aegon replied. “A fate I hear my cousin shared.”

 

Dany flushed this time, her anger trying to threaten her composure. She heard her men muttering amongst themselves.  _They will spill blood in the hall if they think me insulted._  She took a deep breath to calm herself and looked first to Ser Jorah and then once again to Ser Barristan. The white knight looked saddened.

 

_I will not have them think me mad._

“Prince Quentyn tried to take one of my dragons,” she said clearly for all to hear. “I did not intend for harm to befall him but my dragons are not so particular when threatened.”

 

Nymeria Sand began to move and Dany saw one of the Kingsguard knights restrain her, whispering something in her ear. She shook him off but stayed where she was.

 

“My cousin offered you no threat. To say he did is to offer an insult to Dorne.”

 

Dany looked at the now unfriendly faces.  _This is all going wrong_. Aegon’s mouth tightened and she knew that unless she wished to quarrel she must calm them. Her advisors told her of Dorne, she knew that of all the seven kingdoms they were not to be trifled with. Tyrion liked to remind her of the fate which befell Meraxes.

 

“I meant no insult to Dorne my lady,” she said quickly. “The Prince approached the dragons with a group of sellswords. I believe they, more than he, provoked the dragons. I was sorry for his death.”

 

The tension barely abated and Dany still had no answers.  _It is time for a different tactic._  She called for Missandei. The scribe hurried to her side and Dany sent her to the kitchens with instructions. When the girl left, Dany rose to her feet.

 

“Will you sup with me?” she asked. “The cooks here are very good.”

 

Aegon offered a curt agreement. Dany turned her attention to Tyrion.

 

“Will you show our guests through to the small hall?”

 

The dwarf showed the slightest hint of resentment.

 

“I shall your grace,” he said pleasantly. “I do believe I know the way.”

 

Nymeria Sand laughed a breathy laugh and even Aegon smiled a grim smile. He cast a glance in Dany’s direction.

 

“I will be joining you,” she said reassuringly. “I merely need a moment.”

 

Tyrion japed as he led them from the great hall.  _This is his home._  Dany did not mean to offend him but he became touchy where his family castle was concerned.  _He need not fear me claiming the castle as my own._  Dany admired it. It was the first Westerosi castle she had truly known but it would never feel like a home to her. She still felt like a stranger within the fortress and the people looked upon her as one.

 

_Westeros is meant to be my home but this does not feel like my place._

 

She waited until they left the hall before consulting with Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan. Her Bear had remained by her side well into the night while her envoys visited the guest camp. He passed on the information from the messengers as they came and went. She learned from him of Brynden Tully acting as Hand of the King, of Dorne allying with Aegon and the presence of the Golden Company. Dany listened to Ser Jorah’s counsel but she had brooded on the things she heard.

 

_If Aegon is who he claims to be how can he ally himself with those who wanted to extinguish our House?_

 

She pulled the hrakkar pelt more tightly around her, taking strength from it. It helped remind her who she was.

 

“Ser Barristan, I must know what you have learned. Can Aegon be my kin?”

 

Selmy hesitated only a moment.

 

“He does favour your brother, Your Grace.”

 

Dany did not need to ask which brother. Aegon did not have the hard, gaunt look of Viserys. His features seemed softer and even though she did not wish to think it, he was more comely, even with the scar down the side of his face. There were lines around his mouth too, tell-tale signs of smiles and laughter.

 

“Is there anything else I must know Ser?”

 

“There is your grace,” Ser Barristan said. A little colour rose to his cheeks. “A lady is in his company. She served as one of Princess Elia’s ladies in waiting. The Lady Ashara Dayne lives.”

 

Dany thought for a moment. “Ser Arthur Dayne was Sword of the Morning. He was in my father’s Kingsguard.”

 

“That is correct Your Grace.” Ser Barristan avoided her gaze. “Lady Ashara is his sister.”

 

“You knew her,” Dany guessed.

 

The knight looked flustered. The way he behaved seemed unfamiliar yet familiar and Dany pieced it together. Her white knight never behaved in such a way before but other men displayed the signs often. She gave Ser Jorah instructions to pass on to her men and placed her hand on Selmy’s arm once they were alone.

 

“You cared for her.”

 

Ser Barristan stood a little straighter. “I swore vows. I kept them.”

 

Dany wondered whether Aegon knew of Ser Barristan’s affection toward the Lady Ashara.  _It is a convenient way to manipulate the Lord Commander of my Queensguard._  She pressed Ser Barristan to tell her of how Lady Ashara came to be in Aegon’s company. While she listened Ser Jorah joined them once again. He frowned.

 

“It sounds like a story made for a song Khaleesi.”

 

Dany had to agree. It sounded too good to be true and yet Lady Ashara gave it credibility.  _She was one of Elia’s ladies in waiting_. Between her and the knowledge that Lord Connington fought for years to protect Aegon Dany began to truly doubt. She knew Connington to be loyal to her brother. Tyrion told her so and even if he did like to play games this did ring true.

 

_They both believe he is Aegon Targaryen._

Dany did not know where that left her. She came to Westeros thinking she might conquer it and claim her father’s throne giving meaning once again to her House words. Instead it appeared that her brother’s son might have already claimed it.

 

_His claim is stronger than mine._

Aegon only lacked her dragons. Dany remembered the vision she saw of her dragons fighting. She closed her eyes and saw Aegon with the girl.  _Even if he is kin I must be wary._  Viserys taught her that blood ties did not always ensure safety. Her brother no doubt loved her but he tried to harm her all the same. Dany would not let another, one she did not know, take her children and use them against her or others.

 

She resolved to be firm as she made her way to the small hall. She did not want him as an enemy, Ser Barristan’s information suggested she must seek some common ground with Aegon. She needed to know him, to understand who he was and what he was capable of. Voices carried as she approached and a laugh pierced the air. Dany entered to see Aegon smiling and shaking his head at Asha Greyjoy.

 

“I’d like to keep my fingers.”

 

Dany’s men quickly responded to her presence. This time it was Aegon who did not rise when she entered. She chose not to feel slighted and took a seat at the head of the long table. Tyrion sat to one side of her and she gave him a questioning look.

 

“We speak of the finger dance Daenerys,” Aegon answered from the other end of the table. “You must be familiar with it. I hear you know the Lady Asha’s uncle and her people.”

 

“I know of it,” Dany replied with a laugh. “I have not had the urge to play either.”

 

Aegon smiled in response. Whatever passed in her absence it had put him more at ease. Dany sat a little straighter in her chair.  _The food might offer the opportunity to ask questions._  The cooks had prepared a rather more extravagant meal to the ones they had been taking. The smell carried through the hall and made her mouth water.

 

“You eat well here your grace.”

 

The sentiment came from one of the sellswords. He did not say it as an accusation but Dany felt it. The food brought to the table smelled of spiced meat and Dany knew from Tyrion of the starvation elsewhere. She waved the serving girl on and knew that defending herself would only make her appear soft.

 

“We eat as well as we need to. The people have been most kind.”

 

The cooks prepared the meal to impress the guests. It seemed to achieve the purpose. Dany had wine brought to the table and saw Aegon mutter to a man behind his chair, one of his guards. Her own guards stood vigil, no matter that she meant for it to seem a peaceful meal. Ser Barriston took his place, her silent white shadow standing behind her. Ser Jorah sat next to her. Nymeria Sand took a place beside Aegon and Dany supposed the space between them was something to be thankful for.

 

Tyrion raised his goblet as the servers poured the wine and moved along the table with the food. Dany drank a little of hers. Tyrion snorted beside her and she heard others at the table mutter angrily. She looked down the table to see Aegon take his goblet back from the man behind his chair. The knight wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Aegon still did not drink his wine.

 

Dany did not know whether to feel wounded or outraged.

 

“Do you really think your wine is poisoned?”

 

Aegon looked at her quite calmly. He even smiled.

 

“It would not be the first time.”

 

Dany remembered what Viserys told her.  _The Usurper sent his hired knives after us._  Others at the table still looked angered though Nymeria Sand only gave Aegon a fond glance and turned her attention to the guard.

 

“Do you feel poorly Ser Daemon?”

 

The knight gave her a familiar smile and shook his head. “Mayhaps I need a little more my lady.”

 

Nymeria shook her head and laughed but her face held no warmth when she turned her gaze back towards Dany.

 

“I believe you are safe from harm this time your grace.”

 

Aegon raised his goblet to drink and Dany wondered to whom the Dornishwoman directed her words. The room seemed to crackle with tension still. Aegon murmured to Nymeria before acknowledging Dany again.

 

“Do not think I accuse you Aunt,” he said. “It is something one of my advisors suggested some time ago. A most tedious habit but it does pay to be careful.”

 

Tyrion frowned beside Dany.

 

“A good thing Joffrey never took up that habit.”

 

Dany knew full well what Tyrion thought of his nephew. It still bothered her when he expressed his pride in his deeds.  _At least he does not smile this time._

 

“Who tried to poison you?” she asked Aegon.

 

He seemed for a moment as though he might not answer. “I did not get their names. They wished for you to sit the throne.”

 

Dany gripped the table firmly. She saw anger flash across Nymeria Sand’s face _._  Dany rose to her feet.

 

“I would not do such a thing.” Her voice shook without her meaning it to. “I know what it is to live in fear of knives.”

 

Aegon placed a hand on his cousin’s arm and Dany saw him narrow his eyes. Nymeria submitted to him but Dany sensed it to be temporary.

 

“I wished to speak of it to you in private,” he said stiffly, “Not like this. I do not think you behind it Daenerys. Poison does not seem your method for enemies. You live by our House words.”

 

_Fire and blood._

 

Dany had little choice but to sit again and eat an uncomfortable meal.  _My questions must wait still._ She barely tasted it after all the efforts of the cook. Aegon seemed to share her lack of appetite. He eyed her warily and conversed sparingly with those at the table. Dany did much the same. She did show an interest in happenings in Kings Landing, asking more about the city and he accommodated her but she struggled with the revelation of the attempts on his life. When they finished the food she called for his attention.

 

“May we have a private audience?”

 

He nodded and promptly rose. His guards moved to follow him along with the Lady Nymeria. Aegon said something to make her remain behind. He joined Dany with two guards and Dany chose likewise, bringing Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan with her. She saw Aegon glance curiously at Jorah’s slave tattoo but he kept silent.

 

They walked close together but in silence until they reached the solar in Dany’s quarters. She urged him to sit and he did so. He still looked wary. He produced an object and placed it on the table.

 

“I brought this as a gift for you Daenerys. I did not get a chance to give it earlier. I am told it is a good likeness.”

 

Dany reached for it but Ser Jorah moved quicker. He studied it before handing it to her. Dany frowned at the miniature portrait, so small she might wear it on a chain around her neck and Ser Barristan answered her question.

 

“It is a good likeness of Queen Rhaella.”

 

Dany felt the tears try to come.  _The blood of the dragon does not cry._  She took a deep breath and composed herself. She wished to look at it longer but raised her eyes from it to focus on his face. His expression had softened and she knew she must have betrayed something of what she felt.

 

“That is most kind of you. It is a thoughtful gift.”

 

All the things she wanted to say seemed so much more difficult now. The portrait reminded her of family, of Viserys. She looked at Aegon again. Things might have been so different if she met him earlier, if he had come for her when Drogo died. Magister Illyrio sent her Ser Barristan and Strong Belwas but Aegon, Aegon would have been different.

 

_We might have been allies. We might have ruled together, restored House Targaryen together._

It was all different now. Dany looked at the portrait and wished it were not. Aegon had the lords of Westeros aiding his claim. Dany had her unsullied, the Dothraki and the Greyjoys. The two were set up in opposition, A queen and a king. Dany still might have weakened, she still wanted to weaken and join her forces to his but for one thing.

 

_He will want my dragons._

She wanted to go with him, to abandon Casterly Rock and see Kings Landing and the Red Keep. She wanted to see where her family once lived, to go where she might have a home. She wanted it so very badly. Instead she steeled herself, remembering the vision and the warnings from Quaithe.

 

“I have many questions.”

 

He nodded. “As do I.”

 

She paused but he seemed content to let her go first.

 

“Your choice of allies raises questions.”

 

He did not blink. “The Dornish are my kin. As for the rest... the Lannisters made enemies more easily than friends.”

 

Dany smiled at him more warmly than she meant to. “You seem to have the opposite talent.”

 

Aegon clenched his jaw. “I have my own share of troubles.”

 

Dany pulled the pelt around herself once more. She remembered what Ser Jorah told her the previous night and of what Tyrion discovered when they took Casterly Rock.  _He has fought battles and lost people he loved._  The scar made her curious but she did not ask.

 

“I know of troubles.” She touched the portrait. “My brother and I only had each other. Viserys mourned our mother. I never knew her. I’m sure you understand the feeling.” Aegon gave a nod and Dany saw he listened intently. “I might have married him in Targaryen tradition but we had no way home. I was not what I am now. Drogo made me a Queen. He promised to bring me home before he died but.... it makes no matter. I found my own way.”

 

Aegon’s expression darkened and Dany wondered what he was thinking.

 

“We are kin,” he said. “The dragon must have three heads.”

 

Dany nodded. “I know of the prophecy. I know what it is that you want. I must ask for time.”

 

Aegon frowned and she saw him clench his fist.

 

“I do not intend to oppose you Aunt.”

 

Dany began to feel unsettled.  _He has a temper._  His dark expression gave her pause. She did not know if he meant to threaten her or reassure her.

 

“I only asked for time. We do not know one another. I wish to learn to know my brother’s son. I also wish to know why those who aided the Usurper eat from your table and you  _honour_  them.”

 

He became more visibly angered.

 

“I did not intend to repeat your father’s mistakes. I also had more limited options.  _I_  was not gifted dragon eggs.”

 

The resentment in his tone made her glad her dragons were kept far away. She wanted to choose when they might be seen. She wanted to control the first impression of them.

 

_They must not think I cannot control my children._

“My father might have made mistakes but the Starks and Tullys fought in the war that killed your father. They are not the allies of my House.”

 

Aegon frowned. “Our House,” he corrected. “Do not speak to me of the Starks. Ned Stark is dead. The Tullys fare little better. Will you exterminate houses based on allegiance in a past war? Even Aegon the Conqueror did not do that.”

 

Dany bristled. “Aegon spared those who bent the knee. The North and Riverlands have declared themselves traitors. They claim their own crown. They must be brought to heel.”

 

She almost spoke of the girl but Aegon did not give her the chance.

 

“She does not want a crown,” he said softly before his tone hardened. “She will give it up.”

 

He did not say her name. Dany studied his face. She heard a noise through the vents and frowned. Aegon did not seem to notice.

 

“You seem very certain of this,” she said finally.

 

“I am,” he replied in a clipped tone. “Arya Stark wants no crown.”

 

Dany expected he told what he believed to be the truth. In doing so he answered more than the question she asked of him.  _The girl does not want him._  She wondered how the vision she saw fit into what he told her now. The previous anger she saw in him seemed to have melted away and despite her misgivings she reached out to him. He took her hand.

 

“Time is all I ask Aegon. Let us become true kin.”

 

He raised her hand and pressed his lips to it. Dany watched him, feeling wistful. She wished once again that she did not have to harbour doubts and that she did not have to question his motives. She wanted to be free to sit with him, to exchange stories and laughter even if no love existed between them. Dany had no love to give after losing Daario. She did not want to look for signs of betrayal but there was too much at risk to ignore the warnings.

 

“I will give you time Daenerys,” Aegon said.

 

“Call me Dany,” she said impulsively. “Viserys always called me Dany.”

 

Aegon smiled and Dany hated herself for how pleased the simple gesture seemed to have made him. His smile faded and he looked a little conflicted.

 

_He harbours his own doubts._

The realisation made her feel a little more at ease for what she needed to do.

 

“Dany,” he said quietly. “We do have much to learn of one another.”

 

Dany nodded.  _On that point we can agree._

 


	91. Chapter 91

**Chapter 91**

 

Arya made certain not to look back once they departed from Kings Landing. It pained her to leave the friends she made. She would miss Aegon’s men, Lemore, the kind people from the kitchens in the Red Keep, the Dornish she had only just begun to get to know, even Tyene and Obara, and those from the Riverlands who seemed to watch her leave with sorrow in their eyes.

 

_I should have left long ago._

 

Nymeria’s three-legged pacing by her side reminded her of the reason for the delay. The direwolf did not wish to remain with her. Arya heard the other wolves calling and they began to follow as soon as they picked up Nymeria’s scent. Arya knew it would not be long before Nymeria disappeared to be with the wolves again.

 

_They are her pack._

 

The thought brought to mind Arya’s own pack. It hurt to leave Uncle Brynden behind. He was her blood, her mother’s blood and parting from him had been just as difficult as the farewell with Aegon. She kept reminding herself of what awaited her. Rickon waited for her in Winterfell and Jon at the Wall.

 

_I might be able to visit with Jon properly this time._

Arya knew Winterfell managed for moons without her.  _They can allow me to visit with Jon._ Aegon sent men for the Wall and Arya intended to go with them. She wanted to know why Jon sent that letter, why he wanted her to stay away. She wanted him to hold her and call her little sister and tell her everything would work out. She wanted to help him now that she knew it was worse than he told her, now that she knew he needed help in the fight.

 

_I have to find out about Sansa first._

 

Varys put doubts in her head before she left Kings Landing. He gave her one of his odd little knowing looks.

 

“Missing Starks have reappeared before.”

 

Arya knew what he spoke of.  _He refers to Jeyne posing as me._  After his visit Arya wrote letters to Winterfell and Moat Cailin telling them of her intentions and giving instructions. Nym interrupted her writing to try to convince her to stay. The Dornishwoman became rather more upset than Arya expected. Arya knew she would be unhappy, that the Dornish did not wish Aegon to ally with Daenerys but it was more than that.

 

_She called me sister._

Nym liked to play games but in this she spoke truth. They had become close even though Arya knew they both still kept secrets from one another. Nym did not care who she killed, Nym embraced it. Arya did not have to hide so much from her. It was hard to push her away after that but Arya knew what she must do.

 

 _Sansa is my blood._ She remembered what her father said and focused on that.  _Sansa is my pack._

Arya would do whatever was needed to find her. She did not truly believe that Ser Jaime was lying, the information from the Vale sounded too odd for it to be a lie. Even if it was not Sansa with Jaime Lannister, Arya still needed to try.  _Sansa is my sister._  Nym had Tyene and Obara and other sisters in Dorne. The Sand Snakes would look after one another. Arya needed to concentrate on her own family. She needed to think of the wolves.

 

Arya put Robett Glover in charge of the scouts and took her place in the centre of the column for the ride North. She received a report on the first night that they were being followed. It did not take long for Arya to determine who pursued them. Her men looked displeased upon seeing Sandor Clegane. Thoros followed not far behind and Arya asked for them to be brought to her tent.

 

“Where have you been?” she asked. “The Warrior’s Sons were looking for you.”

 

Sandor’s mouth twitched and he made that sound Arya knew to be laughter.

 

“They weren’t likely to find us.”

 

Thoros gave him a look of disapproval and shook his head. Arya did not know what he meant but she began to piece it together.

 

“You were together?”

 

The idea seemed ridiculous. Arya had dismissed it outright when Tyene made the suggestion. She did not know how they had not killed one another.

 

“Myr still has friends in the city she-wolf.” Sandor gave her one of his ghastly smiles. “They are the kind of friends the septons don’t visit, the kind they don’t want anybody visiting.”

 

The look Thoros gave him helped Arya work it out.

 

“You hid in a brothel.”

 

Their silence confirmed it. Arya knew the faith wanted the brothels closed down but all they did was drive them into hiding.  _It made their task a lot harder._  The women were harder to find for the priests and their followers and they would be even less likely to offer up men like Thoros who they knew and trusted. Arya did not know how Sandor fit in.

 

_I have not seen him kill yet._

 

He did not join in the battle in Kings Landing. Instead he remained in a tent.  _He offered to be part of my guard._  Arya refused him and he only snorted, cursed and called her a stubborn bitch. She did not see him after that but she heard he did not take part. The only time she saw him draw his sword was in the fight against Gregor, that and when he said Cersei asked him to kill her.

 

_Something changed after I wouldn’t give him mercy._

Arya wanted to speak with Thoros alone but Sandor lingered. She could see he wanted something. Thoros provided the answer.

 

“We have heard word of you seeking the Lady Sansa.”

 

Arya stilled her face to hide her reaction.  _Somebody did not keep quiet._  A denial would be pointless but at the same time Arya did not intend to divulge her private thoughts to them. She shook her head.

 

“Nobody is to speak of it.”

 

Clegane stiffened and his expression darkened.

 

“You leave in an awful hurry for a woman who has overstayed. Has harm come to the little bird?”

 

He tried to look as though he did not care but he did not fool Arya.

 

“My sister is my concern,” she said abruptly, smarting from his accusation about her staying too long.

 

Sandor made a rude noise and spun on his heel.

 

“Don’t fucking tell me then. I’ll find out from somebody else.”

 

Thoros remained in the tent. He sat on a stool close to the brazier and Arya remembered the words she often heard spill from his lips.  _The night is dark and full of terrors._  He seemed to study the coals, a very serious expression on his face.

 

“I fear I am still a poor priest,” he finally said.

 

Arya wanted to deny it but she refrained. “Why is that?”

 

He looked at her with a frown and shook his head sadly.

 

“I came from Myr to bring my faith to the King. I have failed a third time and I am not certain whether I join you because R’hllor means for me to go North or whether to save my own skin.”

 

Arya frowned but she knew at least part of what he spoke of.

 

“Aegon will not let them kill you.”

 

Thoros shook his head. “I saw it child. They will give him no choice.” He sighed heavily. “The flames offer me glimpses but they do not tell me which path to choose.”

 

He looked so burdened. Arya wanted to call him a coward, to insist he stay and help Aegon but she knew he spoke truth. Even if Aegon did not wish Thoros dead, resisting the Faith might bring him enough enemies for war to break out once more.

 

_They will say Aegon is weak in his faith._

 

Arya grew tired of it. It seemed that no matter what choices were made, somebody must pay.  _The priests and knights should be punished, not Thoros._  They were the ones attacking people who did no wrong. It reminded her of what she must do too.  _I still have not determined those who raped and killed after the battle._  She pushed it aside for now, wanting to know more from the red priest.

 

“Is Aegon in danger?”

 

Thoros hesitated. “I do not know. I think I see dragons. What will come of it is still uncertain. Mayhaps my presence will matter little in the end.”

 

He hid something and Arya knew it. She remembered the dreams Aegon spoke of and it unsettled her.  _Mayhaps they are not just dreams._  It made her think of Bran. The raven had not returned to her yet and she found herself missing the connection.

 

“Do not fret,” Thoros said kindly. “Harm might not befall him.”

 

Arya wanted to snap at him.  _He does not know that for certain._  Instead she told him to leave and prepared for bed.  _I cannot go back,_ she told herself.  _I must not think of it._ Cara joined her and they managed to convince Nymeria to stay despite hearing the howl of the other wolves. Arya closed her eyes to sleep, taking comfort in the company of her friend. The comfort did not last.

 

Her dreams were filled with blood and not the good kind like in the wolf dreams. Faces appeared before her, faces she thought long gone. She saw the boy in the stables though his face was blurry and she did not see his features. She still knew it to be him. Others followed, others she had killed. There were so many.

 

Ser Ilyn looked at her and she heard him make that noise. He had laughed when he found her in his tent and she told him who she was. His missing tongue made it hard to tell but Arya knew laughter. The clacking sound stayed with her long afterwards and she heard it now as she saw him reach for his sword once again.

 

_I could not hear his last words._

Dunsen she thought of less and yet she now saw him too. The guards slept, dosed with sweetsleep and she remembered him appearing gleeful.  _He thought I was going to free him for gold._  She spoke to him of the helmet and she heard  _his_  laughter.

 

“There are worse things than taking good steel going to waste.”

 

He had done worse and he spoke of it as though it meant nothing. He was still speaking of it, completely oblivious and he did not even see the knife. Arya looked down at her hands but they were clean. They did not stay that way. The blood stained them, dripped from her fingers as other faces flashed by, faces from Braavos and faces from battle and Arya wanted to call out to somebody, anybody to make it stop.

 

_“You are going where you must go Arya. You are going North, to Sansa and Rickon and Jon. Winter is coming for us and we must be ready.”_

 

She woke with a start to find the raven in the tent with them. It was fluttering above her and squawking and Cara waved her arm at it in alarm. Arya sat up in her bed.

 

“I heard you,” she muttered.

 

It squawked once more before falling silent. She looked at her hands and the blood was gone.  _It was only a dream._  It had felt so real. The voice sounded like her father but Arya knew it must be Bran. She rose and got ready to join the march again trying to think of what it meant.

 

Haldon rode with her, his face etched in disapproval. Nymeria already began to roam and Arya knew Haldon wished to be by Aegon’s side.  _He knows Nymeria does not need him._  The wolf did not go far before coming back in view. Her strides easily kept pace with the horses.

 

“I am glad you came,” she told him.

 

Haldon looked startled before giving her one of his thin, too knowing smiles.

 

“You prefer a maester you know.”

 

Arya shook her head. “I prefer my friend.”

 

He did not answer her then but his expression softened. Much had passed between them. Arya did not have to pretend so much with Haldon and he wasn’t  _stupid_. She turned to see the black brother from the Night’s Watch riding close to her personal guard and urged him to join her. He did so gladly, his recruits under the watch of Aegon’s men.

 

“Tell me more of my brother and the Wall.”

 

The man referred to Jon as the Lord Commander and it felt odd. Everything he offered felt odd to Arya. The man he spoke of did not sound like her brother. It all sounded so formal, more like their father when he put his lord’s face on. Arya supposed that must be what Jon did now. She still thought of him as her brother who smiled for her and called her little sister.

 

She had to  _make_  him tell her what it was truly like there. When he did she felt gripped by despair. Jon told her a little but he sheltered her. He might have asked for men but he made it seem that he faced little danger.  _I should have been there with him._  Her men would not have wanted to go but Arya knew now she should have been by his side. She told the man and he laughed at her.

 

“He wanted to send you away. When that other girl came to the Wall he said it was no place for his little sister.”

 

Arya shook her head. “He wouldn’t send me away.”

 

The look the black brother gave her made her think on it. She remembered Jon’s letter and realised he had already tried. It made her feel even more stubborn about it.  _I won’t let him send me away._  Jon thought it too dangerous with the dead men and the Others but Arya had been through more than he knew.

 

_Jon and I belong together, same as when I was a girl._

“I can help,” she said firmly. “Once I return to the North I can fight too.”

 

He laughed again. “Nobody wants to be at the Wall.” He cocked his head in the direction of those being sent there. “They certainly don’t want to be there.”

 

Arya glanced at the unhappy faces of the prisoners. Many of Aegon’s men looked almost as displeased.  _He is right._  They wanted to fight Aegon’s enemies, the people opposing his rule. They wanted the gold and land which came from fighting people.  _They see no profit in going North._ It reminded her of something Bran said.

 

_The true enemy is in the North._

Arya now understood what he meant. She thought she understood in Pinkmaiden but she knew better now. It took the battle in Kings Landing to make her see.  _I fought and people died and we won little._  Cersei still lived and people still fought and those in the city and elsewhere still suffered. Aegon had the throne and he might be a better ruler but Arya gained nothing by lingering to join his battles now.

 

_I have to do what is right._

 

Her dream returned to her.  _My hands were clean and then they weren’t._  She resisted the urge to chew her lip.  _I need to rule my face._  She tried to remember the rest of it and how it felt. The last part of it disturbed her, the last part felt wrong but the people on her list did not, even if she felt no joy from their deaths.  _If I did not kill them they would keep hurting others._  It wasn’t the killing that felt wrong. It was the reason for killing.

 

_I had to do it. If I did not kill them in battle then I would be dead or more of my men would be lost._

 

It still did not make her feel better about it. Thinking of the battle in Kings Landing reminded Arya of the task she had put off. She used her time carefully, beginning to move unnoticed when they camped at the end of each day. When she finished her duties it gave her the chance to watch and to listen and a carefully chosen face allowed her to find out what she wished. After a week she knew all she needed to know. What to do with the knowledge was the more difficult question.

 

Sandor Clegane joined her when she sat by the fire thinking of it. Only Nymeria remained close. She gave him a wary look. He seemed to have dropped the subject of Sansa but Arya still did not relax.

 

“Has the little wolf bitch found out what she wanted to know?”

 

Arya made certain not to react but he did not need to hear her answer. His face twitched.

 

“You forget I know you. I know you better than these fools. I had to hear your bleating all that time before you ran away and left me to die.”

 

_I did not run away. I had nowhere else to go._

 

“You should have died,” Arya retorted.

 

He did not seem to care. “Why have you been creeping around the camp at night? Are you missing your King that badly?”

 

“It isn’t about him,” Arya snapped.

 

Clegane gave her one of his hideous smiles.  _He never thought it was._  Arya sighed, knowing she might as well tell him.  _Everybody will know soon._

 

“After the battle some of the people in the city were killed. Some of the women...”

 

Sandor looked as though he might laugh at her. “What did you expect? Have you never heard of the Sack of King’s Landing?”

 

Arya scowled. “That was the Lions.”

 

This time he  _did_  laugh at her. “Knight are for killing. The Northmen might not have taken vows but they are no better. Most of them think of themselves as knights. It makes no matter which bloody colours you dress them up in or which fucking banner they march under.”

 

Arya did not want to look at him.

 

“It matters to me.”

 

Sandor went silent. “Look girl, this is what happens in war.”

 

Arya did not want to hear it. “I’m not a girl, I’m a woman grown and I’m not  _stupid_. My father would not have let this be.”

 

He snorted. “Your bloody lord father killed just like these others. He might not have sacked the city but he killed all the same. He liked it just like them too.”

 

Arya was so angry she wanted to hurt him. She left him instead.  _He is wrong about my father._  Arya went to her tent and closed her eyes trying to remember him. She tried to picture him and imagine his voice. She wished he were with her right then to tell her what to do but she thought she knew anyway.

 

 _They are wolves like me. I commanded them and their wrongs are my wrongs unless I do something._         

 

They were approaching the Crossroads Inn when Arya gave the order to gather the men. Her advisors gave her queer looks. Nymeria had been roaming further but the direwolf now kept close to her side. It made her feel stronger even though she still felt apprehensive. When she began to say the names of those she knew to have hurt people after the battle the camp erupted in protest. While most were little known, some were knights and two lesser lords were named.

 

“Bring them,” she ordered.

 

The Greatjon acted quickly, as did Robett Glover and the Skagosi. Arya unsheathed her sword and the first of the men being brought forward realised what she meant to do. She heard whimpering and pleading but also curses.

 

“You have a choice,” she told them. “The sword or the Black.”

 

Most chose to take the black once they tried to call her bluff. They joined the ranks of prisoners with the man from the Night’s watch. She saw them watching her with anger in their faces. The whispers carried to her ears. Arya heard talk of treason. She knew some felt that actions after battle should be overlooked, that it was the price paid for taking men from their homes for so long.

 

_They think me a soft hearted woman._

She heard talk of behaviour to be expected when a man’s blood was up. There were also questions as to how she knew.  _They think it to be trickery._  Arya answered them as honestly as possible.

 

“They spoke in the wrong person’s ear. There are few secrets from me in this camp.”

 

The angry people were the minority but it still gave Arya pause. She heard the whispers about her leadership and suggestion that her brother would not see it the same way. Arya thought of her connection to Bran and knew they were wrong.  _Bran is not that different to me._  Sometimes when she felt the raven she wondered if the thoughts in her head truly belonged to her.

 

_He thinks it wrong too. He speaks of the true enemy._

 

It did not truly make her feel at peace even though she knew it to be right. Some men gave her looks which promised future dissent even if they did not whisper. Arya retreated to her tent, feeling even more lonely and isolated than she felt after the battle when she confined herself to the Maidenvault to care for Nymeria. She crawled into her bed after a time, wondering if Jon and Aegon might have understood what she had done.

 

_Aegon punished his own men but he did it more to prevent the people protesting._

 

She suspected that he might hesitate to act if he thought it might make his lords bannermen unhappy.  _He wants to do what is right but finds the choosing hard._  She did not know what Jon would do. She thought he might agree with her but she did not know.  _If only they were here with me now._  The thought was a foolish one but she lingered on it still.

_Things will be better when I see Jon._

Sleep did not want to come and Arya tormented herself with memories. She hated that her mind went to Aegon when she thought about wanting it all to go away, of not wanting to be alone and not wanting to hurt and feel weak. She wondered if he thought of her too.

 

 _He won’t,_  she told herself.  _He will have somebody else._

 

She felt angry with herself and she pushed the thoughts away. She knew she made the right decision when the messenger from Kings Landing caught up to them the following day.

 

“Ser Brynden wished for me to tell you that he rides for the West.”

 

Arya thought it odd at first that her uncle went to the effort of sending a messenger. When she read the parchment meant for her she understood.

 

_Daenerys is here._

 

She quickly saw there was more to it. The letter told her they journeyed to Casterly Rock to meet with Tyrion Lannister. It also said Aegon intended to go with them. She felt no surprise given that he made no secret of his need to make an alliance with his Aunt but she worried about him leaving Kings Landing.

_There are dangers everywhere but he knew the city needed him there. He knew he must not be seen to abandon them._

Arya quickly hardened herself as she remembered what he intended when meeting his Aunt. She dismissed the messenger. Cara soon gave her something else to think of. Her maid became more agitated the further North they came. Arya finally broke and demanded to know the problem.

 

Cara’s eyes filled with tears. “You will be angry with me your grace.”

 

Arya grasped her hands. “Tell me.”

 

Cara sobbed her way through the tale and Arya became angry but not with Cara. She reached for the pin Cara always wore.

 

“May I borrow it?”

 

The woman sniffled and her hands shook so much that Arya had to unpin it herself. She changed into a gown similar to that worn by Cara and attached the pin to her dress.

 

“What will you do?” Cara asked. “You do not look like me.”

 

The maid was so distracted she forgot Arya’s title.  _The illusion is stronger with something belonging to the person you want to look like._  She did not tell Cara. Cara feared the man Arya planned to meet enough. She recalled the conversation with Tyene.

 

_I was right to trust Cara._

 

Even threat of death did not convince the maid to betray her. Arya made her way through the camp, repeating the same words in her head as her look changed.  _I am Cara, frightened Cara who rarely smiles and worries at every word_. Her hands fluttered nervously and she kept her eyes low. When she reached the sentries she jumped in fright.

 

“What are you doing?” one barked.

 

“I-I need to... her grace asked that I...” her lower lip trembled.

 

“Fine,” the other said tersely. “Get on with it.”

 

The man waited where Cara said he would be.  _He does not look impatient._  Clearly he was in the habit of waiting. He smiled at her as she approached him and she looked about herself nervously.

 

“I did not think you were going to show.”

 

She shook her head. “The queen has been watching me.” She fiddled with the brooch. “She watches everything.”

 

He laughed at that. Arya gave him a sidelong glance. He did not stand out at all. His voice marked him as lowborn. Cara said she knew him only as Elbert. His features were plain, his height middling.

 

Arya wrung her hands. “The queen will have me killed if she knows,” she said in a shaking voice.

 

“She won’t know,” he said gruffly. “She trusts you don’t she?” He gave her a sharp look. “Have you forgotten what you owe?”

 

Arya shook her head. Her eyes filled with tears as he passed her a vial.

 

“W-Why do I have to do it?” She fumbled the vial in her shaking hands.

 

Elbert shrugged. “All I know is she is an obstacle. Somebody wants her out of the way.”

 

Arya sniffled and pocketed the vial. Elbert turned suddenly and his relaxed demeanour changed.

 

“What is that beast doing?”

 

Arya startled. “I-I don’t know. She usually only follows the queen.”

 

Nymeria bared her teeth in a growl and Elbert almost tripped trying to back away. Arya followed him and his eyes widened as the direwolf nosed her palm. She sighed knowing the game was likely up and unclasped the pin.

 

“Who sent you here?”

 

Elbert cursed and this time he did trip. Arya stood over him and he sat, pale and trembling with fear as he looked up at her.

 

“Y-you...”

 

Arya felt for her finger knife but she did not want to use it. She wanted answers.

 

“Tell me who thinks I am an obstacle. Who wants me dead?”

 

He shook his head and she saw he had pissed himself.

 

“All I know is they don’t want you to be queen. I do not know his name.”

 

Nymeria growled again. When Elbert rose, the wolf lunged for him as he ran no matter that Arya tried to call her back. She hunched over the body, her muzzle red with blood. Arya heard shouting behind her and the sentries joined her, looking confused.

 

“What is it, your grace?”

 

Arya plucked out the vial and handed it to them.

 

“Treason,” she told them. She left Nymeria with Elbert feeling frustrated that she did not have the chance to question him further.  _Nymeria is not a pet._  The direwolf had killed too many to show restraint at one who posed such a threat. Arya shook off her disappointment.

 

_The punishment would have been death regardless._

 

Cara looked worried when Arya returned to the tent. The snow began to drift down outside once more as she closed the flap.

 

“He is dead,” she told the maid.

 

Cara looked relieved. “I never wanted it. I never told them anything and I never said...”

 

Arya hushed her. She knew the truth from much earlier.  _She felt she had no choice._  Arya knew that feeling. She experienced it herself in Braavos. They sat together by the brazier for a little drinking mulled wine. The question stayed with Arya though.

 

_This is the second time somebody has tried to have me poisoned._

 

It was still on her mind the next day as they reached the Crossroads Inn. Arya did not bring many men with her to greet the Heddle sisters.  _We cannot stay, we only want information._  The children greeted her with a slightly warmer greeting than the last time but Willow still had no smile for her. Jeyne urged her inside.

 

“Have you been well?” Arya asked.

 

Willow scowled. “We have had to fare for ourselves.”

 

Arya knew the Brotherhood aided them.  _I did not think about what might happen after._  She looked around the Inn.

 

“I did not mean to leave you without friends.”

 

“We had other friends your grace,” Jeyne said softly.

 

Willow spat. “Your lady sister took them.”

 

Arya’s pulse quickened. “You saw Sansa?”

 

Jeyne nodded. Arya sat with them, giving orders to her men to bring what little food they had to spare. She listened to their tale of Jaime Lannister arriving with Sansa Stark and the men from the mountain clans. She saw Willow’s resentment at the outlaws now accompanying Sansa and Jaime and the direction in which they travelled. Jeyne did not speak as harshly but Arya still saw her sorrow.

 

“I can leave men with you,” Arya offered.

 

“The wrong men will be worse than none,” Willow replied.

 

Arya thought of Kings Landing and knew them to be right. “I will choose carefully,” she promised.

 

She did not linger at the Inn now that she knew for certain her sister was with Ser Jaime. Her anger at the man felt fresh once more.  _Ned is with her._  She tried to remember him. He was only a boy when Arya met him. Anguy she could picture a little better but they did not make her feel confident after seeing what became of the others in the Brotherhood.

 

The men left behind looked thankful for the shelter even if they resented the delay in their return to their homes. Arya promised them it would not be for long. She urged her men to move quickly as the rode further North on the Kingsroad, thoughts of the poisoner pushed to the back of her mind.

 

_There will be time to investigate that later._

 

The snow fell thicker and lay in deeper drifts the further they rode. The Northmen however were best equipped to deal with snow, arranging for the horses to be able to keep moving without sinking. Arya noticed the difference without the men from the Riverlands in tow though Aegon’s men fell a little behind them. It did not concern her, her focus was on her family.

 

_We are coming for you Sansa._

 

 


	92. Chapter 92: Jaime and Sansa

**Chapter 92: Jaime and Sansa**

**Jaime**

Jaime Lannister smiled and japed with the mountain clansmen and kept a wary eye on the outlaws. They looked back at him with equally wary expressions but Jaime did not dwell on it any more than he needed to. Other thoughts occupied his mind. He could not stop thinking about his brother.

_“I am the monster they say I am. Yes, I killed your vile son.”_

The memory had become distorted with time. Jaime remembered Tyrion looking gleeful while he confessed. Jaime pictured the grin on Tyrion’s maimed face, hideous in the torchlight as he laughed and laughed at Jaime’s stupidity. He dreamed of it sometimes.

_“Tyrion and I knew nothing of the plan.”_

He glanced over at Sansa Stark. His good sister rode between the archer Anguy and Shagga. Shagga was telling her something in his booming voice and she wore a gentle smile as she nodded and responded. Light flakes of snow adorned her hair making her look as pure and innocent as the Maiden herself. His missing fingers hurt as he clenched the reins with his one good hand.

_She might be lying._

Lady Sansa had proven herself a skilled liar. The presence of the outlaws attested to that. As frustrated as he felt he admired the ploy. She carried it out skilfully and nobody was the wiser as to what she had done. Nobody saw through it except for Jaime. He spent too many years watching Cersei to be fooled again though the memory of his sister dredged up further pain.

_The story made too much sense._

Tyrion gained nothing by poisoning Joffrey. Cersei immediately suspected him and the evidence weighed heavily against him. Sansa had ample reason to kill Joffrey too but she did not truly gain from it.  _Littlefinger held her prisoner._  She traded one cage for another though to hear her speak of it one would not know.

_She still shows concern for Baelish._

Whenever he tried to question her over it, a wall came up and she replied with tales of Lord Petyr offering her protection. She told them so convincingly Jaime wondered if she truly believed them herself. When he went so far as to ask gently if Baelish forced himself on her she denied it so vehemently that she drew the attention of the others.

“I was his daughter,” she protested.

_She will never confide in me._

He knew he must count himself lucky that she told him the little she did.  _Tyrion knew nothing of the plan._ The longer Jaime thought on it the more he knew it to be the truth. The Tyrell’s gained the most from Joffrey’s death.  _Tyrion said it to hurt me._  It prompted Jaime to remember the rest of Tyrion’s words. His brother did not just try to wound him by confessing to killing Joffrey.

_“Cersei is a lying whore, she’s been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy.”_

He might have thought it all to be lies if not for remembering Lancel at Darry. He thought about the letter sent from Kings Landing and the trial.  _Cersei called me a fool._  He recalled her telling him that she and Tyrion had lied to him countless times. It took only a moment to imagine his cousin and to picture her with Ser Osmund on the night the Tower of the Hand burned.

_I truly am a fool._

He wanted to go to her still. He wished to tell her that her fears about the Tyrells were warranted.  _I would have killed them if I knew._  Even missing his sword hand he would have ensured they did not profit from the death of Cersei’s son.  _He was our son._  Jaime might have left then and there if not for the obstacles between him and Kings Landing.

_The clansmen will want their gold._

Lady Sansa might be safe in the presence of the outlaws but Jaime could not be certain. Even if she were safe, even if the clansmen were to let him leave, too many men wanted him dead between the inn and Kings Landing. Even if he managed to arrive there Cersei might not be waiting for him.

_She might have heeded my letter._

He could not help but think that no matter the circumstances, Cersei lived.  _She will not die before me._  When he left her she was behaving rashly but Jaime knew she retained some wits.  _She would not let them capture her_. Whatever else he felt, the thought of her head on a spike and of Myrcella possibly beside her gave him the urge to fight. He remained a knight of the Kingsguard no matter how soiled his cloak.

_My place is with Myrcella._

He need only see Sansa Stark reach the North and he would go to Myrcella and Cersei.  _I will return or die trying_. He wondered once again where Tyrion was as he urged his horse forward to join his brother’s wife. Shagga grinned and made way for him but Lady Sansa’s smile appeared rather less gentle upon him joining her.

“It seems that winter becomes you my lady.”

Sansa raised her hand to brush the snowflakes from her hair. She lowered her eyes demurely.

“You are kind to say so Ser.”

Jaime laughed. “You do not truly think me kind. I am quite certain you have thought about my demise more than once.”

Her cheeks were flushed from the cold but she seemed to redden a little more.

“I would never-“

He dismissed her protests.

“You are better at hiding your distaste for me than your lord father and lady mother. I will give you that. “

Sansa fell silent. It seemed she did not have an answer though Anguy smirked at him.

“It is rather admirable. There is so much that is distasteful about you Kingslayer.”

Jaime made himself smile.

“Today is not the day I put stock in an outlaw’s notions of honour. I seem to recall you making a fortune at the Hand’s tourney. Whatever did happen to all that gold?”

Anguy did not embarrass as easily as Jaime might have hoped. He smiled at Sansa.

“We don’t all have the riches of Casterly Rock. A man has expenses.”

Jaime did not like the attention the archer showed her.

“You mean you showered gold on the street of silk.”

Anguy tore his gaze from Sansa and looked at Jaime reproachfully.

“Don’t try to tell me that you never visited with whores yourself.”

Jaime frowned. “Only the one,” he said dryly.

Lady Sansa interrupted them.

“We are approaching shelter.”

Jaime followed her gaze and saw that she was right. She seemed rather eager to camp and as daylight hours dwindled quickly others shared her eagerness. The going was slow, the snow hindering their progress and Jaime knew it could only get worse. He watched her as she dismounted, less graceful than Jaime might have expected. There were no shortage of helpers on hand and she accepted their assistance with another smile.

_I wonder who truly wields the power._

Lady Sansa accepted Jaime’s arm when he managed to manoeuvre to her side once more. Even without the gowns and jewels she was surely accustomed to her admirers flocking around her. They reluctantly allowed him to act as protector whenever Ned Dayne was not on hand. He need only remind them of his relation to the lady, no matter how much it earned him glares. The Lord of Starfall lingered behind this time but Jaime had no doubt he watched closely.

_I owe it to her through her marriage even if not for the oath._

She murmured courtesies to him and acknowledged the others as they walked. One of the outlaws took her horse.

“You play a dangerous game my lady,” he warned her.

For once she did not play the innocent with him.

“Your warnings are not needed Ser Jaime,” she said softly. “Cersei and Joffrey taught me of danger long ago.”

Jaime set his mouth in a grim line. “So they did.”

The innkeep did not dare refuse them lodgings. Even if the outlaws did not intimidate, the clansmen certainly struck fear in the hearts of men. Jaime kept close to his good sister wanting to be sure she had no unwelcome visitors. He gave Pod guard duty too, asking that the squire alert him to anything untoward.

“Do not try to fight them yourself.”

The young man looked as though he might argue, even with his usual stammering. He did finally relent though Ned Dayne joined him within moments. Pod and Lord Edric exchanged a warm greeting, the squire’s shyness momentarily forgotten. Ned locked eyes with Jaime.

“One of my own men will help keep guard ser.”

Jaime nodded. “If you think it best my lord.”

The resentment stayed with him even though he knew it to be a wise course. The young lordling did not trust him, even if he did seem to have thawed towards Pod.  _He also does not trust the others._  The distrust toward the clansmen was only wise but Jaime had qualms over the outlaws too. They might follow Lord Edric’s commands during the day but men in their cups were a different matter.

_We have reached an uneasy truce._

The night passed by uneventfully and they left early the next morning. Jaime watched Sansa once again. He often compared her to his sister but he now noted the differences.  _They both have wits_  he reflected,  _but Lady Sansa appears to have more patience._  His sister was also more ruthless. As the days passed he began to get the uncomfortable feeling that his good sister’s kindness might be more harmful than it seemed. The clansmen grew ever warmer to her by the day.

_They follow my command only for gold and I might not even have that to give them._

He wanted to curse the gods. He charmed them well enough himself but they needed to move faster. Men had always followed Jaime’s leadership but the Lannister name did not hold the power it once did. The clansmen followed him for his brother’s sake. They owed Jaime no oath of fealty. He cursed once again over Tyrion killing their father. He could not help thinking that Tywin Lannister would not have let things reach their current state. He then dismissed the thought bitterly.

_I am my father’s son. I will find the way out of this._

It seemed that Sansa was satisfied for now with travelling North. She might look at him with distrust at times but she showed no real hostility. Jaime did not expect her sister to share her restraint. He thought of the tales of the direwolf and remembered the hunt for it after the incident at the Trident. He remembered Cersei asking him to maim or kill the girl.

_Mayhaps she was not completely wrong after all._

He shook his head at the thought. It was foolishness to look back. Jaime needed to focus on what was to come. He turned to Sansa and asked the question, even though he expected he knew the answer.

“Do you know anything of where my brother is?”

She looked taken aback. “I do not Ser.”

He sighed. “Would you tell me if you did?”

Sansa looked offended. They rode in silence and Jaime mulled over thoughts of the various oaths he swore.  _I will escort her to safety and find a way back to Myrcella._  He did not know where his brother fit in but he thought of his father and clenched his jaw.

_A Lannister pays his debts._

**Sansa**

It became colder the farther they travelled North. Ser Jaime and Ned Dayne always kept close to her though sometimes it was the other outlaws.  _It is always on Ned’s orders._  They were not as kind as he was and Sansa suspected they laughed at her. They looked at her in that way men did but they laughed at her nonetheless.

Ser Jaime still insisted on being her shield.  _He still wants to be Arthur Dayne._  She might not have minded quite so much if he did so quietly but he spoke to her often. Every time he did so he reminded her of his family. She no longer felt the urge to react when he called her his good sister.  _That is mere truth._  It was when he spoke of Tyrion and Cersei and of her family that she struggled to remain courteous.

_I do not wish him to speak of them._

He did so kindly enough but after leaving Kings Landing she hoped to never see a Lannister again, let alone have to hear them speak of her mother and Robb. He persisted nonetheless but not always unprompted. The outlaws liked to remind him of the Red Wedding and seemed oblivious to any distress it might cause her. Sansa chose to try not to hear them. She focused off in the distance, in the direction she expected Winterfell might be but she did hear Ser Jaime’s tone.

_He disapproves of what they did._

It brought to mind painful memories of Tyrion. Her husband tried to apologise in his own way but Sansa did not wish to hear it and he stopped trying.  _He is still a Lannister._  Both of them were, Tyrion and Ser Jaime no matter the small kindnesses they offered her. She did not trust Ser Jaime. She could not trust Ser Jaime.

The inns and shelters became further apart as they travelled further. Sansa shivered as the cold worsened no matter that she wore layers of fur over her gown and woollens underneath it. It became more difficult to keep up her greetings to her companions but she persisted nonetheless. She did not forget her lessons that easily, both the early ones from her septa and the later ones learned in Kings Landing and from Petyr.

“I do hope the gloves have eased the soreness in your fingers.” she told Anguy.

He gave her a smile. “They help a little m’lady.”

He had complained of it to her, stressing the importance of needing to be able to use his bow. Sansa’s concern was not feigned.  _We might have need of his bow._  She forgave him looking at her as though he imagined her in her smallclothes as long as he only looked.  _I have had worse._  The memory of one night came unbidden, the smell of wine and the whisper of her mother’s name.

_That did not happen. I only dreamed it._

She sometimes saw the man by her bed but he looked like Marillion instead and sometimes even the Hound. They did not always let go of her when she screamed. Sansa tried to think of it as a dream Alayne had but it disturbed her still. She wished for the other dreams, the better dreams of Winterfell and snow which fell on warmer days and the laughter of her siblings.

_Every day brings me closer._

Sansa did not know what she might do when she arrived. She just kept her eyes trained in the distance. She did not want a Lannister in Winterfell and that weighed on her.  _I might turn the clansmen against him._ She knew it need not even be difficult. She had learned so much now that she did not even feel it to be much risk. An innocent comment would do it.

_“I do hope Ser Jaime can find your gold. The Lannisters have lost the war and I fear for him. Casterly Rock might be the next castle to fall.”_

The words were ready but it seemed she could not say them.  _Without Ser Jaime there might be war between the outlaws and clansmen._ Sansa might offer them something but she doubted Arya or Rickon would be willing to honour it. Something else held her back too. She did not feel certain she wanted to do such a thing, even to a Lannister.

_I somehow doubt they harboured the same doubt about my family._

Ned Dayne joined her while she was thinking on it. Anguy retreated with a jape and the young lord took his place.

“I am afraid there will be no roof this night my lady.”

The disappointment stung though she did her best to hide it. She expected he saw it still though he might have simply imagined her distress.

“We will have a makeshift shelter,” he promised.

He kept his word and Sansa huddled under it shielded at least from the snow. She tried to keep warm by the fire which did not give off nearly enough heat. Some of the outlaws murmured strange prayers before they all repeated the same phrase together.

“The night is dark and full of terrors.”

Sansa heard Ned say it softly too though not fervently like the others. He turned his attention back to her and offered her his cloak.

“It is not entirely dry my lady,” he said apologetically, “but it will afford you some warmth.”

Sansa looked about her quickly but Ser Jaime did not appear with the expected jape. Sansa took the cloak and offered thanks. They sat together for some time in silence.

“I saw you once my lady,” Ned said suddenly. “It was at the Hand’s tourney. Ser Loras gave you a rose.”

Sansa looked at him. He was staring intently into the fire.

“That was a long time ago my lord,” she said quietly. “You have a good memory.”

_Ser Loras did not even remember giving it to me._

He glanced at her and looked away quickly.

“You will not have noticed me but all who attended noticed you my lady.”

His pale blond hair hung into his eyes and he pushed it back. Blue eyes she knew after seeing them more closely. They appeared purple at first but they were a very dark blue. He looked at her again.

“You are kind to say so my lord,” she said.

Ser Jaime sat down beside her and she wondered how much he heard.  _Far too much_  she soon realised when Ned rose and excused himself.

“My brother once gave you a cloak,” he reminded her, gesturing at the one Ned had draped around her shoulders.

“I have not forgotten Ser,” she told him, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. Sansa would never forget her wedding, how Cersei and Joffrey treated her. “Lord Edric is simply being courteous.”

Jaime laughed. “It is the kind of courtesy aimed to melt a maiden’s heart.” He gave her a knowing look. “It is a good thing you are no maiden.”

Sansa prayed the darkness might hide her blush.  _Every time I begin to feel I cannot hate him he reminds me who he is._  She did not intend to discuss her maidenhood with him.

“Ned Dayne is more chivalrous than that Ser,” she told him stiffly. “He knows that I am married.”

Ser Jaime sounded bitter. “Ah yes, I know all about the Daynes and their chivalry. I’m certain those sisters at the inn can attest to it too, unlike what they say of me.”

Sansa knew there to be a barb in what he said and chose to let it pass given what she had discovered.  _Why does it bother him so?_ She knew some of the terrible things he had done. He seemed to feel no shame in them and yet he took every address as Kingslayer badly. She wondered how he told himself it was not wrong.

_I would ask him but he is not my friend no matter how gently he speaks to me._

They began to travel slower still as they approached the Neck. Sansa knew it would take longer than it did all those years earlier when she left Winterfell for Kings Landing. This just seemed so very much longer than she anticipated. She heard whispers of food running low and when more appeared she expected it was stolen. She only hesitated a moment before eating it anyway.

Ser Jaime was even more bothered by the slow pace. He wished for them to ride for longer each day but it could not be. Greenbeard, the Tyroshi, scoffed at his impatience.

“If your horse breaks its leg we ain’t carrying you.”

That settled the matter. Ser Jaime praised the snow for freezing the bogs in the Neck but he spoke too soon. They had travelled two days into the swampy area before the first of the clansmen fell to a dart from a crannogman. Ser Jaime cursed and from then on he wore his full armour, including his gorget. Some wanted to turn back.

“We needed a banner,” Ser Jaime muttered and Sansa saw him glance her way. “They would not attack if they knew us to be escorting a Stark.”

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief when they saw the ruins with the Stark banner the next day. They lost two more men, both clansmen but the killing stopped when they drew close. Pod rode by her side and he looked happier even than Sansa. Ser Jaime did not share the emotion.

“Moat Cailin,” he muttered darkly. “I had hoped to avoid this.”

She anticipated what it was he dreaded but it quickly became worse than that. A sentry called down to them.

“Who goes there?”

Ser Jaime motioned to her and Sansa urged her horse forward. She willed her voice not to shake.

“I am Lady Sansa of House Stark. My companions are escorting me to Winterfell.”

Men emerged from the ruins but they did not appear as friendly as Sansa might have hoped. They addressed her companions in a downright hostile manner.

“If you move in a way we do not like you will be filled with arrows.”

When the lead man turned to Sansa he softened but only a little.

“Will you come with me... my lady?”

Sansa cast a look over her shoulder at Ser Jaime, Pod and Ned Dayne. Anguy looked like he wanted to string his bow and Shagga had one hand twitching as though he might reach for his axe.

“What will you do with them?” she asked. “Do you intend to harm them?”

The man tensed and Sansa saw displeasure in his features.

“I have received orders from the queen. They are prisoners until she puts them to the question.”

Sansa followed him into the ruins and to a room. He showed her through and others joined him looking at her curiously. She heard them muttering and one mention “a good likeness” before they took a place guarding the door.

“I must ask you to stay here... my lady.” The original man said.

Sansa did not get a chance to ask a single question before he closed the door and shut her in. She did not understand it at first. By the time Ned Dayne knocked on the door and gained entry she felt as though she might cry.

_Arya must still be angry with me._

She held back her tears and sat on the bed in her room. It was only a straw mattress and the room was in ill repair but she had larger concerns.

“I hope I do not disturb you my lady,” Ned said hesitantly.

She gave him a smile she hoped covered her distress and beckoned for him to sit in a chair. He did so albeit uncomfortably.

“I am pleased they released you my lord,” she offered.

Ned looked a little awkward and he darted a glance at the still open door and the guards keeping watch.

“They accepted my explanation for now. I believe they are more concerned with Ser Jaime.” Sansa did not feel surprised. It was only to be expected with the war. Ned cleared his throat. “I do hope they are not behaving too uncharitably my lady.”

Sansa glanced at the guards.

“This is not the welcome I might have expected my lord,” she confessed.

One of the guards made a noise. The other gave him a sharp look. Neither spoke a word.

“They fear you to be a Lannister plot my lady,” Ned said quietly.

Sansa recalled the way the first man addressed her and his hesitance at her title.  _They do not believe I am who I say I am._ The unfairness of it stung her but she raised her chin.  _I will not let them see that it hurts me._  Ned rose and she wanted to ask him to stay. She held her tongue instead.

“I was only granted a moment,” he explained. “Mayhaps I might visit again at another time.”

Sansa said all the appropriate things and watched him leave. He did return each day and Sansa received other visitors besides him, Northmen all of them though she did not know their faces. They offered her food and every comfort available but no matter how much she tried to win them to her cause they never quite gave in. They warmed to her but their courtesies still remained hesitant and the distrust never left.

She had been in the castle for just over a week, only leaving her room for brief spells and always under guard, when she heard the sentries calling out. Sansa stood and moved to the window to see and immediately spotted the Stark banner. Moat Cailin buzzed with noise and Sansa knew it must be Arya. She continued to watch but she was unable to distinguish one man from another until a single figure emerged ahead of the others. A direwolf loped along with them.

_She found Nymeria._

The men kneeled before her. Sansa strained to hear but could not make out any words. She did see the figure she knew to be Arya shake her head and move quickly to enter the castle. Sansa moved away from the window and tried to tidy herself. The knock at the door came even more promptly than she might have expected.

The door did not open immediately.

“May I enter?” the voice said on the other side.

Sansa hurried to it and her hands shook when she turned the handle. She retreated quickly as it swung inwards. The woman on the other side of it took one look at her and turned to the men around her.

“Please leave us.”

Arya showed little expression when she turned back around. Sansa took in her appearance. Her sister was a woman grown now. Sansa had foolishly continued to imagine her as the girl with the scabby knees and dirty face, always underfoot. The woman in front of her still had the long face and dark grey eyes Sansa remembered. The once messy hair remained untidy but her sister now wore it in braids. She dressed rather like her men but was in no way boyish. She moved confidently and with grace.

_She does not seem so horsey now._

The silence lasted far too long to be comfortable and Sansa tried to smooth her skirts.  _Does she expect me to kneel?_ The very thought made Sansa feel resentful. Just as she decided what she might say Arya beat her to it.

“Sansa,” she said, very softly.

Arya’s hands fluttered for a moment before she reached up to remove the crown she wore. It was very plain, not what Sansa might have chosen. She set it down on the bed and looked to Sansa again.

“They made you queen,” Sansa blurted.

Arya showed the first real expression. She looked a little taken aback.

“I did not wish it.”

Sansa almost felt as though some accusation lay beneath those words, even though Arya did not sound accusing.  _I no longer wish to be queen._  She wanted to say it but she did not want to speak of Kings Landing. Her sister must have been thinking of it nonetheless.

“Did he hurt you?” Arya asked.

She had stepped closer, so close that Sansa might reach out and touch her if she wished it. She did not know if Arya might welcome her touch.

“I am unhurt,” she replied, evading the question.

_I do not wish to speak of it._

Arya reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind Sansa’s ear.

“If Baelish hurt you I will kill him.”

It did not sound like a boast. It sounded like a promise. Sansa did not quite know what to say.

“It was not me he wanted to hurt,” she finally offered.

Arya nodded. “I am sorry about the men. They were supposed to treat you better.”

Sansa did not know quite what to do. She thought a lot about what she might say when she saw Arya once again but the person before her seemed changed. Sansa did not know if Arya might welcome contact from her. She did not know what Arya wanted.

“They were not unkind,” Sansa replied.

Arya reached out again and this time Sansa took her hands. She noticed the callouses and scarring and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask about it. Arya withdrew her hands before Sansa had the chance.

“I am glad you live,” Sansa offered.

Arya nodded again but she moved to retrieve the crown from where she had set it down.

“I will send someone to you. There are some things I can give you to make you more comfortable.”

Sansa wanted to respond but Arya did not give her the chance. Her sister retreated from the room with haste and closed the door behind her. It was not until after she left that Sansa knew what she truly wished to say.

_“I am glad to see you Arya.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the reunion was not all warm and fuzzy but I wrote it keeping in mind what GRRM himself said. The sisters might love each other but they have a lot to work out.
> 
> If you would like to read something warmer by way of reunions you can check this out: http://madaboutasoiaf.tumblr.com/post/95989238034/arya-reuniting-with-long-lost-sibling-for-that-fic  
> I will be uploading my tumblr drabbles to AO3 one day... (or so I keep telling myself)


	93. Chapter 93: Arya & Jaime

**Chapter 93: Arya | Jaime**

 

Arya closed the door softly and paused, resting her hands against the wood. She did not even get a moment before footsteps approached.

 

“Forgive me your grace,” Robett Glover said hesitantly. “May I ask if it is her?”

 

Arya nodded. “My lady sister is not to be treated as a prisoner. I asked that Ser Jaime be held here but I did not wish Sansa to be confined.”

 

Lord Robett sounded taken aback. “Of course your grace.”

 

She heard his footsteps retreat and knew he intended to report to the men. Arya closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She imagined all kinds of things before seeing her sister. Her mind conjured up plans of what she might say or do when they met but none of it felt right when they came face to face, not when Sansa stood before her and looked at her the way she did.

 

_Sansa has changed._

Even in roughspun her sister was beautiful, even more beautiful than Arya remembered.  _She looks so unhappy._  Sansa’s eyes were sad but Arya felt it to be more than that.  _She might be angry with me over being trapped here and she does not think I should be queen._  Arya inspected her hands as she turned away from the door, remembering the way Sansa looked at them.

 

_I am still nothing like a lady._

 

Sansa did not want to tell Arya her secrets. Arya did not blame her.  _She has heard things of me._  It hurt even though she did not feel surprised.  _It is what I expected._  She closed her eyes again for a moment, recalling her training and schooled her face as she made her way down the stairs.

 

_Sansa will be happier after I send Cara to her._

She met Ned Dayne before she reached the bottom of the stairs. Her men reported his presence when she arrived but Arya felt she would have known him anyway even with him being a man grown now.

 

“I must thank you for protecting my sister my lord.”

 

Ned flushed. “I do not require thanks my l-your grace. I only did what I felt to be right.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Arya retorted. “If not for the Brotherhood she would have been a captive of the Vale clansmen.”

 

Ned looked wary. “Mayhaps. Is it true that the Hound rides with your men?”

 

Arya resisted the urge to frown. Sandor Clegane continued to ride with them and Arya wanted to send him away. She associated him with bad memories and the longer he lingered the more she became suspicious of his motives.  _He is too interested in Sansa._  Every time she spoke with him she meant to tell him to go but then she remembered the attack from Gregor and she did not do it.

 

“He says he isn’t their Hound anymore. He did not do those things in the Riverlands.”

 

Ned looked rather incredulous. “Forgive me your grace but I do not think it wise to trust him.”

 

Arya suppressed another retort.  _I am not stupid._  She studied Ned for a moment and suddenly remembered what he told her years earlier.  _He and Jon are milk brothers._  She felt frustrated she forgot to tell Jon but supposed she might tell him soon enough. Ned was not her blood or from the North but he had honour. She knew it from what the men told her even if she had not seen it by speaking with him.

 

“I do not wish for him to be alone in my sister’s presence my lord. You have been acting as one of her shields. The Northmen will keep watch but you are her friend. May I ask you to stay close?”

 

Ned paused and he looked conflicted. “I am needed at the inn.”

 

“I left men at the inn,” Arya assured him. “I chose carefully.”

 

Ned nodded. “I hope to speak with Thoros but I will do as you request.”

 

It came as a relief. Arya did not feel surprised that Ned wished to speak with the red priest.  _He will gain little from it._  Thoros spent every spare moment gazing into his flames with a troubled expression but he spoke little of what he saw. When Arya prompted him he gave the same answer.

 

“I cannot make sense of it your grace. I see dragons and fire, figures with blue eyes and falling ice. The visions are more frequent as we travel North but I do not know what it means.”

 

Arya did not press him any further.  _If I keep asking I will make him get it wrong like Melisandre._  It worried her because of Aegon’s dreams, the things the Night’s Watch man told her and the messages from Bran. She had used the raven in their travels and when she did she saw things which frightened her and all she could do was repeat her early lesson over and over.

 

_Fear cuts deeper than swords._

 

She left Ned and continued down the stairs. She found many of her men gathered and waiting. Some were grumbling loud enough that Arya might have heard them even if she did not have stronger senses from her training. The Greatjon bellowed to her.

 

“What do you intend to do with the Kingslayer, your grace?”

 

She felt the eyes on her and knew what they wanted. All of them remained loyal to the Starks. Not all of them wished to obey her without question. The work she put into earning their respect and being able to command them took a dent when she had some of them put in chains. She saw the hardness in some of them, the unhappiness still lingering.

 

_This will not help them to love me._

“I will question him.”

 

They were in high spirits upon arriving at Moat Cailin and being so close to the North and home now and Arya credited that as the reason they did not take it as badly as she might have expected. A few spat at her announcement and she heard curses. The Greatjon bellowed at them and they fell silent.

 

“I know he is not to be trusted,” she told them. “I have not forgotten who he is.”

 

Arya also had not forgotten her father’s teaching. She moved past them, intent on speaking with Cara until she felt Nymeria approach. The men made way for the direwolf. Nymeria’s limping had lessened more and her leg was no longer confined. Arya hoped it might heal soon to what it was before.

 

“With me,” she told Nymeria.

 

The direwolf did shadow her though Arya did not know whether it was because of the command.  _We have a bond beyond words._ The direwolf was deadly, just like Arya only Arya hid it better. Nymeria was the part of her that did not show restraint. The direwolf did not have to hold her tongue or pretend.

 

_She does not wait to hear last words though either._

 

Arya dwelled on it a little as she walked quickly around the ruins of Moat Cailin to locate Cara in the Gatehouse Tower. Nymeria killed without asking questions and there was a time for that. Arya knew she must take more care with the wolf. She found Cara arranging baggage in the room Arya was to stay in. Arya hurried to help her despite her protests. When they were done she placed her hand hesitantly on the older woman’s arm.

 

“My lady sister is here.”

 

Cara did not even let her finish. She gave Arya a shy smile, asked questions and quickly moved around the room gathering items. She picked up two gowns and Arya thought about leaving until she saw Cara pick up a third. Arya darted forward and took it, flushing at Cara’s startled expression.

 

“Not that one.”

 

She looked down at the soft blue fabric feeling stupid. Cara did not question her. She simply continued gathering the other items and glancing at Arya curiously. Arya tucked the gown away wishing she did not care.  _It is not that I want to wear it._  She just did not think she could bear her sister wearing it, not with the memory of Aegon smiling softly at  _her_  wearing it.

 

“Do you wish for anything else before I go to her your grace?”

 

Arya returned her attention to Cara and shook her head.

 

“I must speak with Ser Jaime. It will not wait.”

 

Cara did not appear to know what to say to that so Arya let her be. She made her way from the Gatehouse Tower to the Drunkard’s Tower. On her way she heard the men gathered and speaking of the prisoners. Sansa’s name was mixed in with the whispers, hushed talk of her sympathising with them. There were mentions of the dwarf. Arya soon learned what they spoke of first hand when she reached the door to the room in which the clansmen dwelled.

 

The guards took one look at Nymeria by Arya’s side and grinned as they opened the door. Those within wore a mix of sullen, angry and resigned expressions. Some smiled when they saw her and one even asked to speak to Sansa. The smiles faded when they saw the direwolf.

 

“I must know why you came here,” she told them. “I need to know what you intended and what you hoped to gain from it.”

 

They spoke over one another. Arya had practice in picking out voices in a crowd. She let them argue and determined the story quickly. Multiple of them mentioned gold and the term “halfman’s wife” and “Jaime son of Tywin” featured prominently. Nymeria snarled when Arya had learned enough and they fell silent.

 

“You declared war on the Vale.”

 

Anger erupted and Arya heard her men behind her. She gave them a command to stay back. The clansmen were unarmed and Arya thought it highly unlikely they were going to try to harm her with the wolf by her side and her men keeping watch.

 

“I am not in danger.”

 

The clansmen spoke of those in the Vale persecuting  _them._  They spoke of the first men and the invaders and of not being bound by the rules which treated people differently. Arya did not know what to think.  _My father might have known what to do._  Arya knew the land belonged to the Vale lords.

 

_I also know what it is like to be treated differently._

 

“What does Ser Jaime have to do with this?” she asked.

 

They looked as though they might not tell her before one, an apparent leader spoke up.

 

“Jaime son of Tywin promised gold when halfman’s wife was safe.”

 

Arya knew they told the truth. They were killers but they asked after Sansa with hope as though they expected Sansa might free them. Arya dismissed their questions, wanting time to decide what to do with them. She knew her men might want them dead or used as hostages in the conflict in the Vale.

 

_I must speak with Jaime Lannister._

 

She found him in a room near the top of the tower. It appeared to be in the worst repair of any in Moat Cailin. His guards admitted her only reluctantly and she soon found out why. Jaime Lannister was shackled to the wall by one arm. His legs were chained together too. When he raised his head to look at her his face appeared swollen and bruised. He smiled at her and one of his front teeth was clearly broken.

 

“Lady Stark I presume. You have your father’s look. That is unfortunate for you.”

 

Arya did not respond to the remark and chose not to correct him on her title. She kept her face still and hid her anger inside. Ser Jaime moved awkwardly but seemed to care little whether he insulted her or not.

 

“It seems you lack your sisters’ courtesies amongst other things.” He rattled the chains. “This is poor thanks for me retrieving her from Littlefinger’s care my lady.”

 

“I owe you no thanks,” Arya said flatly. He had lied and schemed and even now she saw he wished to anger her. The Lannisters were the reason Littlefinger managed to take Sansa. She cocked her head and studied Jaime. He did not fear her. She took a few steps forward and crouched before him. Ser Jaime merely smiled again. If anything he looked curious.

 

“Why exactly are you here? Are you missing the prince? I’m not sure I’m interested but I’ll substitute if truly necessary.”

 

Arya might have hid her anger from Ser Jaime but Nymeria felt it. The direwolf leapt forward, snarling and Arya saw the first fear on Jaime’s face. He scrambled flat against the wall.

 

“Careful now,” she warned him as she reached out to calm the wolf. “If you say anything too stupid I cannot promise I will stop her next time.”

 

Jaime laughed but he could not hide the fear. His eyes did not leave the direwolf. Arya watched him, thinking about whether to tell him Aegon was king now. She decided against it, not wanting to admit that Cersei had escaped.

 

“You killed Jory,” she told him. “Brienne said you have changed.”

 

He glanced at her, a glint of amusement in his green eyes.

 

“Brienne believes what she wants to believe. Whoever Jory is I do not believe I mourn his death. If you are going to kill me you should bloody well just do it.”

 

Nymeria snarled again and Arya felt the anger coming from the wolf.  _It is her anger or mine?_  Arya suspected the latter and she stood to draw the sword. She saw Jaime’s eyes widen and knew he recognised it.

 

“If you are not sorry I see no reason to let you live. My men want you dead and I think I agree with them.”

 

She stepped forward to release him from his chains and make an end of it before the raven screamed and flew between them.

 

**Jaime**

Jaime prepared himself to die. He had always hoped his end might at least be with a sword in hand but it appeared those hopes were dashed. He did not know where the raven came from or why it stopped the girl. If it were Jaime he would have just cut through the damn bird. Instead she began to speak to it.

 

“Tree,” it shrieked. “Tree.”

 

Arya Stark let the bird land on her arm. It shrieked again. She looked at it with that same off putting expressionless face before turning her attention back to him. “Do not think this means you are spared. It only means that my gods wish to speak with you.” An odd smile flitted over her face.

 

Jaime tried to think past the throbbing in his head. His tooth pained him more than he wished to admit. The monstrous direwolf still eyed him as though it did not care for whatever sorcery its mistress wished to call down upon him and Jaime wondered whether he might be better off provoking it then and there.  _It is not like Robb Stark's wolf._  He supposed that if the creature had not been killed it might have grown to be the same but it still seemed rather less savage than the she-wolf. Robb might have used his wolf to intimidate but that paled in comparison with the monster growling before him now, slaver running from its jaws and menace in its eyes. He glanced at Arya again, seeing her being rather attentive to the raven and tried to understand.

 

“Why?” he asked.

 

Arya made an odd sight with the bird on her arm and the wolf by her side. She sheathed the sword and flicked her braid over her shoulder and her smile showed him the source of all the rumours. There was something about her, even if she did not quite have her sister’s beauty.

 

“I will do almost anything for my brother,” she informed him.

 

Jaime did not understand the relevance but he recalled the words he used himself. “The things we do for love,” he said.

 

Arya looked at him and Jaime had the uncomfortable feeling she saw into him.

 

“Your sister is going to die,” she said calmly. Her tone seemed cold and her eyes were like grey flint.

 

“We are all going to die” he replied, trying to sound as though he did not care.

 

Arya smiled at that, a wolfish smile which showed her teeth.

 

“ _Valar Morghulis.”_

He thought he had heard the phrase before but could not recall what it meant.  _Tyrion would know_  he thought to himself before remembering what his brother had done. The young woman called to the wolf and it gave him one more seemingly reproachful look before following her.

 

“You must be confident in your command,” he called after her. “They lost faith in your brother and they will not like this.”

 

She turned back to face him and when the raven screamed it almost seemed Jaime had angered it. The bird flew from Arya’s arm crying “murder.”

 

“I do not care if you did try to fulfil the vow,” she told him. “My mother is dead and you have no right to speak of Robb. Nothing you have done will save Cersei. I will not grant you mercy for your crimes.”

 

Jaime remembered the Lady Catelyn as she was the last time he saw her.

 

“I know better than to ask for mercy from somebody who could kill their own mother, even with her being as she was.”

 

Something flickered over Arya’s face, something resembling pain and Jaime felt a moment of shame. It still did not push her far enough.

 

“That  _was_  mercy,” she said in a tight voice.

 

She paused a moment looking at him and he was uncomfortably reminded of Ned Stark and his bloody honour. The girl brought to mind all those broken vows and his intentions to regain his own honour.

 

“I am sorry my lady. That was uncharitable.”

 

His apology appeared to have no impact on her. She merely looked at him for another moment.

 

“Words are wind.”

 

This time she did leave him to wonder what on earth had happened to the wild child Cersei sent him after on the Trident.

 

**Arya**

She did not know what Bran wanted with Jaime but he was so insistent she could not refuse him. Her men did not agree with the decision, she knew that before she informed them. They only agreed to it because she told them she wanted him questioned before the heart tree.

 

_They once used to sacrifice people before the trees._

Her stomach rumbled when she finished speaking with them and she realised how long it had been since she ate. Men were gathered with their rations in the drafty hall. Arya joined them. The outlaws were amongst the Northmen and they quickly sought her out, professing their relief at her safety.

 

“The crown becomes you your grace,” Anguy offered with a bow.

 

He looked so comical Arya gave him a smile. Her smile faded when she heard the murmurings and turned to see Sansa entering the hall. Her sister held her head high and smiled and spoke to the men as she passed them. The outlaws greeted her warmly and Arya saw her sister already wore one of the gowns Arya sent her. Arya expected her sister still remained a little taller and Arya was still skinny.

 

_Cara helped her adjust it._

Sansa drew alongside her and stopped. Cara walked beside her with her eyes lowered, looking cowed. She darted forward and took a seat with Arya at the slightest gesture. Sansa remained still and Arya realised she was looking at Nymeria. The direwolf lingered in the hall, not seeming in a hurry to return to the other wolves following them North. She did not move far from Arya’s side.

 

A frown flickered briefly across Sansa’s face and Arya remembered Lady. The anger rose in her when she thought of the lies and the things Sansa said afterwards. Nymeria whined and when Arya glanced at the direwolf she saw her looking at Sansa the same way she looked to Arya for acknowledgement.

 

_Nymeria knows she is part of the pack._

 

The retort Arya had been going to make died on her lips when she remembered what her father said.  _I must blame Cersei and Joffrey and Sandor._ When she looked back at Sansa her sister just looked sad. Arya tried to think of what she might say, something to defend herself from the accusation she felt must still be held against her over the incident but Sansa had turned her attention away from the wolf and wore a stiff smile instead.

 

“Thankyou for the gowns Arya.”

 

Arya paused for the briefest moment still wrestling with memories. She made herself push them aside.  _There will be another time to speak of it._ She looked at Sansa who wore the soft grey woollen gown far better than she ever did and chose to answer with simple truth. “I was not wearing them.” She gestured to the seat beside her and Sansa took it. Ned Dayne sat beside her and gave them an odd look. Arya tried to think of what to say. “The clansmen asked after you.”

 

Sansa smiled again and Arya wondered what her sister thought now. The old Sansa would never have spoken to anybody who appeared so savage, no matter what they were underneath. Her smile disappeared to be replaced by what almost looked like guilt.

 

“They are fond of Tyrion.”

 

The Whoresbane brought the food to them and Arya saw him spit at the reference to a Lannister.

 

“I hope the King takes his head off your grace. Then Lady Sansa might be free.”

 

Arya saw the expression cross Sansa’s face and blurted without thinking.

 

“You do not want him dead?”

 

Whoresbane cursed and Sansa flushed a deep red. Ned scowled behind her. Arya heard murmurs of disapproval. Some blamed it on Sansa being a tender hearted woman but others suggested corruption. Arya resisted her own urge to scowl and recalled memories of Sansa with Joffrey and Cersei.

 

“I do not wish to be married to him,” Sansa said hurriedly. “If he must die then so be it.” A dark expression clouded her face. “I would rather it be Cersei’s head.”

 

Arya could see the truth of it.  _She does not wish Tyrion dead._ She remembered the rumours of the two of them poisoning Joffrey together.

“What did they do to you?”

 

Sansa pursed her lips and reached for her knife. “I do not wish to speak of it,” she said softly. “I just want to go home, to Winterfell.” She dug the dagger into her meat as though attacking somebody.

 

“You will,” Arya said quietly. “We leave in two days.”

 

Her sister focused on her food but Arya heard her whisper words under her breath.  _“I will be stronger within Winterfell.”_

 

She let her sister think so but Arya suspected differently.  _There will be no true peace for us._ She had not forgotten Jon. Sansa might be found now but the pack was not united yet.

 

_He needs me whether he asks for me or not._

 


	94. Chapter 94: Ser Barristan

**Chapter 94: Ser Barristan**

Ser Barristan thought he felt old back in Meereen, holding out hope that Daenerys still lived and awaiting her return. Now he felt older still and even more tired. He left Daenerys in her rooms filled with finery. His queen was troubled, as troubled as he was if not even more. He saw it in her furrowed brow.

 

_She wonders as much as I do whether she is still queen. She wonders what it means if Rhaegar’s son lives._

 

Ser Barristan swore his service to Daenerys but that did not stop him doubting. His failures came back to haunt him. Ashara Dayne and Aegon still numbered among them even if they did appear in the flesh before him.  _I should have been with them in their exile._  The thought felt like a betrayal to Daenerys but it did not stop him dwelling upon it.

 

Aegon took chambers within the fortress of Casterly Rock and his entourage joined him. Ser Brynden wisely chose to remain in the encampment outside the castle grounds along with the main force of the men who accompanied Aegon to Casterly Rock. Ser Barristan persisted in his duties to Daenerys but he felt hesitant to intrude on Aegon, not knowing what to expect from the young Targaryen.

 

_I have not forgotten the words of King Jaehaerys._

 

He knew Daenerys and knew her to be fair and wise for one so young. Ser Barristan did not doubt she would do what she felt to be right no matter the cost.  _She is not her father_. He knew no such thing of Aegon. Granted, the young man’s followers seemed attached to him but Ser Barristan remembered Aerys having friends too. Aerys was charming and generous and that drew people to him before the madness set in.

 

Ser Barristan took his rest where he could. He did not like to sleep long and that was fortunate because he was not afforded the opportunity. Arriving in Westeros was the beginning, not the end and his duties called him after only a few hours of slumber. Daenerys wished to attend upon Aegon’s camp and to speak with his allies. Ser Barristan needed to accompany her.

 

Aegon rode with them to the camp and Ser Barristan watched him converse with Daenerys. Aegon’s eyes wandered to the dragon horn being carried awkwardly by horse. The young man appeared to care little about Daenerys bringing her own men but his gaze lingered on the horn and he did not disguise his frown well.

 

“How does it work?”

 

Daenerys’ smile froze on her face. “I do not fully understand how it works. I do know that the horn is bound to me and Drogon responds to both me and the horn.”

 

Aegon nodded. “What of the other dragons?”

 

Daenerys evaded the question in that way she had learned and Ser Barristan saw a flicker of annoyance on Aegon’s face.  _He wants the dragons._  Ser Barristan recalled Aegon’s claim of attempted poisoning and remembered his angry outburst in his private meeting with Daenerys and it made him doubt. He needed to learn more, to know whether Aegon was prone to fits of fury and paranoid suspicions. If he were then the knight did not know what he might do but he needed to prepare Daenerys.

 

_She has her own suspicions._

 

Those suspicions extended to Aegon’s followers and Ser Barristan felt another surge of guilt. He knew he had to shoulder some of the blame. He told himself it was not his place and that he would tell her of her family once she was ready but he waited for her to ask and the questions did not come. Upon her return to Meereen she embraced her house words even more fervently, speaking of fire and blood and of taking back her father’s throne from those who stole it.

 

_Tyrion Lannister spoke the words that might have sounded sweeter from me._

The time for holding back hard truths had passed. Daenerys asked questions about Hoster and Brynden Tully and Ser Barristan answered every one that Aegon did not. The sellsword Lysono Maar kept close to Aegon’s side before they parted company upon entering the camp. Lysono led them to the tent bearing the Tully banner while Aegon separated from them to speak with his men.

 

“It is best if they see me,” he said in a neutral tone. “The Dornish share my cousin’s grief over Quentyn’s death.”

 

A frown flickered across Daenery’s face but she nodded and offered no objection. Ser Barristan remained close to her, watching carefully for threats. The dragon horn might summon Drogon quickly but it would still take some time and Ser Barristan did not intend to rely solely upon the dragon, however fearsome a threat it was. The unsullied did not stray far either, no doubt sharing his concerns.

 

Brynden Tully sat waiting for them. The tent only held the Blackfish and one of Aegon’s kingsguard. Daenerys gave orders for only Ser Barristan and Grey Worm to enter with her. Lysono Maar included himself in their company. Ser Brynden rose and offered the sellsword a nod of acknowledgement before turning his attention to Daenerys. The smile he offered Ser Barristan upon their first meeting was absent and a wary expression replaced it.

 

“You have been expected in Westeros for some time Your Grace. May I offer you refreshment?”

 

Daenerys offered Ser Brynden one of her smiles and sat across from the knight. Ser Barristan and Grey Worm remained standing, silently keeping guard. Grey Worm held the dragon horn. Lysono sat on his own stool by Ser Brynden and Ser Barristan saw Daenerys glance at him.

 

“I know of your history. I am surprised you ally yourself with those who were once your enemies.”

 

Ser Brynden laughed and paid no attention to the food set before them. “I might say the same of you. Greyjoys and Tyrion Lannister are rather odd choices.”

 

Ser Barristan hid his feelings. Tyrion Lannister was no ally, not truly. The Greyjoys were another matter but he knew Daenerys did not trust them. She was no fool. Daenerys picked up a piece of cured meat and chewed. She did not answer immediately.

 

“I have not promised my allies more than they are entitled to.”

 

The Blackfish looked sceptical. “Euron Greyjoy is a madman who wishes to be king. His brother has always been a follower. I did as my liege commanded. I do not lose sleep over the decision. I cannot say I would feel the same if my alliance were with Euron.”

 

Dany frowned. “You allied yourself with Aegon because your liege commanded you. You speak of your niece, Arya Stark.”

 

Ser Brynden’s expression darkened. “She did not command an alliance. Arya gave the men a choice as to whether they agreed to the terms offered. She wished to have justice for her brother and her parents, for our dead king.”

 

“Another king died in another war,” Dany said softly. “Another father died and another brother.”

 

Brynden Tully’s face became stone. “There are casualties in war. The death of your father was Lannister doing, It was without honour. You might speak to the Kingslayer about that. As for your brother he chose single combat. He did not die at dinner, at a wedding.” He picked up a piece of dried fruit and ate it and Ser Barristan felt a surge of relief. The talk of deaths at dinner put him on edge even though he thought the Blackfish an unlikely poisoner. Ser Brynden showed no such relief.

 

“The Lannisters held my nephew here, Lord Edmure Tully. I understand that he and his son live. What do you mean to do with them?”

 

Daenerys had a look Ser Barristan knew well. “Casualties are a part of war. There is also another side to it that I believe you know well. Lord Edmure is comfortable within Casterly Rock. His wife and son are treated far better than my family were. You may see them if you wish while they remain my guests.”

 

Brynden Tully sat in silence. “You would keep them as hostages. We are not your enemy.”

 

Daenerys smiled. “There are greater comforts within the castle. I mean to unite the seven kingdoms once more. It is better that Lord Edmure be my guest.”

 

“You will kill him if I do not bend the knee.”

 

Daenerys rose. “I do not think that will be necessary. Aegon tells me that your niece will give up the crown willingly. As you say, we are not enemies.”

 

Lysono Maar rose to walk with them from the tent. Ser Barristan noted that the sellsword remained silent during the entire exchange. That did not remain the case once they emerged from the tent.

 

“I fear you make an error your grace. The Blackfish does not take ultimatums well.”

 

Daenerys’ tone was more than cold when she replied. “I made no error. Mayhaps you might tell me while you are offering counsel why the Golden Company laughed when my brother asked for aid and yet you back Aegon’s cause?”

 

Lysono Maar appeared genuinely confused. “Did you not know? We were to join the Dothraki and Viserys first. We only heard of Aegon after your brother died. Magister Illyrio made the arrangements.”

 

Uncertainty and more than a little pain flickered across Daenerys’ face. “I will be certain to question the Magister.” She strode quickly and silently through the camp, Ser Barristan keeping pace. Those watching eyed her with curiosity and some with resentment and anger, no doubt the Dornish. When they reached the horses Daenerys addressed the sellsword once more. “I will return to the castle now. Aegon may sup with me later.” She handed the horn to one of her unsullied and mounted her horse quickly. Ser Barristan followed suit and did not speak until they were clear of the camp.

 

“The sellsword is not wrong about Ser Brynden. The man is so obstinate he remained estranged from his brother for years despite their house words.”

 

The steely resolve Daenerys showed in the camp gave way and she closed her eyes, suddenly appearing more like the girl from Meereen. “It seemed a better course than the alternative. Hostages are a normal part of war. The threat of dragons must be kept in reserve.”

 

_Will she really kill the hostages?_

Ser Barristan did not wish to ask. He suspected he knew the truth.  _She will not kill the child but there will be retribution._ The Daenerys before him now might be reluctant to use the dragons but she  _would_  use them. The Daenerys before him now united the Dothraki khalasar and confronted the Dosh Khaleen, She had killed Khal Pono and Khal Jhaqo and every other Dothraki who challenged her in her time on the Dothraki sea. He still remembered her telling of the Dosh Khaleen trying to make her join them as a widow of Drogo.

 

_Vaes Dothrak allows no blades._

 

Drogon was no blade. The gentle queen Ser Barristan knew could be fearsome and that was most evident when facing a threat to herself or her children.  _Aegon best realise that quickly if he has any plans to wrong her._ Ser Barristan wished to ask her what she planned but upon reaching Casterly Rock he became distracted by her immediate intentions.

 

“I wish to speak with the Lady Ashara while Aegon is absent.”

 

Ser Barristan knew Daenerys wanted to question Ashara. He wished to be present but part of him also feared what that fair lady might say. It wounded him to hear her tale when in the camp and to have her look upon him as having served an enemy, the man who cared little for the murder of the princess Ashara served.

 

He did not voice his hesitation. Daenerys proceeded straight to Ashara’s chambers and the voice from within urged them to enter. Ser Barristan flushed and averted his eyes when they did pass into the room. Lady Ashara was arranging her robes and seemed to have little care for modesty.

 

“You wear septa’s robes,” Daenerys said in surprise.

 

Ser Barristan heard laughter in her voice when Ashara replied. “I have been a septa for so many years it feels odd to wear anything else. Aegon wishes to pray with me upon his return. It was time.”

 

He turned to look upon her. Ashara played with the crystal she wore around her neck and his eyes were drawn to it before he flushed and raised them again. Ashara seemed to smile at his discomfort.

 

“I hope the Faith gave you comfort in your grief my lady.”

 

Her brow furrowed. “Thankyou ser, I will not forget what I lost but I pray more for guidance during our current troubles than the past ones.”

 

“When did you become a septa my lady?” Daenerys asked.

 

Ashara let go of the crystal and smoothed her robes with her hands instead. “I fled to Pentos with Aegon. We sheltered there in the manse of the Magister. It is not difficult to be accepted by the Faith if they view you as having been dishonoured. I let them believe Aegon was mine until I took my vows and was able to leave. The Magister made certain he was cared for.”

 

Daenerys looked thoughtful. “You love him.”

 

Ashara became defensive. “Aegon is a good boy. He has his mother’s wit and cleverness. I am proud of the man he has become. If he was my son I could not be prouder, even if the Faith tells us that too much pride is not seemly.”

 

Daenerys smiled gently. “I meant no offense my lady. I merely wished to know more of my kin.”

 

Ashara took a breath and smiled her own smile. “I did not mean to appear offended. I only hope you will not judge him harshly. He has learned some very hard lessons since arriving in Westeros but he wishes to do his duty.”

 

Daenerys took her leave of Ashara and Ser Barristan followed despite a wish to linger and know more.  _She embraced the dishonour of birthing a bastard._  He had thought often of fair Ashara but in all his thoughts she never spoke of perceived dishonour with scorn as she had just done. Ser Barristan never imagined hearing laughter in her voice again and fire at the suggestion of criticism of her charge.

 

“She is not being compelled to lie,” Daenerys said, cutting across his thoughts. “I must know more of Aegon’s intentions. I must learn of the hard lessons Lady Ashara speaks of.”

 

“Tyrion Lannister may know more,” Ser Barristan offered reluctantly.

 

Daenerys laughed. “I am certain he does. He knows this castle well, even the drains.”

 

Ser Barristan had wondered at that. “Do you think he listens?”

 

Daenerys wore another smile although she did not appear wholly amused. “I am certain he does. He knows far too much.” She placed her hand gently on his arm. “You need more rest. You look very tired. Ser Jorah will protect me now.”

 

Ser Barristan left her with the younger knight and did as she bade him. He did feel tired but these days that was nothing new.

  
*

 

He took time to rest and refresh himself. Even after he rose once more he waited, preferring to have a meal and gather his thoughts. His concerns about what type of man Aegon was mixed with Ashara’s passionate defense and more than once his mind went unbidden to what he had seen of her person in her chambers. Ser Barristan reminded himself of his vows.

 

He steeled himself and walked down the halls to where he knew he would find Aegon. On his way he remembered Daenerys’ distrust of the dwarf and the anger she felt at his impertinence and general lack of remorse for his crimes. The little man did not let it discourage him, still as bold of tongue as ever and speaking truths Ser Barristan might never have uttered. Aegon’s presence made him more cunning.

 

When Ser Barristan arrived at Aegon’s quarters the guards stepped aside to allow him entry. He did not need to fear Tyrion Lannister hiding in drains on this occasion, the dwarf sat nearby with a goblet in hand. He appeared newly arrived and tilted his head to look at Ser Barristan with his mismatched eyes.

 

“Here is the bold Lord Commander now.”

 

The title caused Ser Baristan discomfort while in Aegon’s presence and he sensed the dwarf knew that. Aegon lifted his head from a book and smiled. His fingers traced the writings on the page but he closed it and beckoned for Ser Barristan to join him. Ser Barristan hesitated just a moment, looking upon the young man.

 

_There is some of Princess Elia in him but he looks to be his father’s son._

It was more than just the silvery hair like Rhaegar’s. Aegon’s eyes were lighter in colour, violet like Daenerys rather than the indigo of Rhaegar’s eyes. Aegon’s features however were Targaryen. He smiled like Rhaegar though this young man smiled far more often than Ser Barristan remembered Rhaegar smiling. Aegon beckoned again.

 

“I wished to speak with you, Ser.” Ser Barristan took the offered chair and felt some gratitude at not being asked to hand over his sword to the guards. He braced himself for an uncomfortable conversation. Instead Aegon smiled. “Will you tell me what you know of my family? I have heard some but not since... Lord Connington used to speak of my father. You knew King Jaehaerys and Aegon the Unlikely.”

 

There was a hopefulness to the question which was almost endearing and not unlike Daenerys. Ser Barristan spoke and for each question he answered Aegon had more. His plans to ask questions of Aegon began to appear dashed, particularly with Tyrion Lannister making humorous observations with each tale and Aegon alternating between laughter and scowling and prompting Ser Barristan to continue.

 

“I do have knowledge of history,” Aegon informed him, running his fingers over the cover of the book he had been reading when Ser Barristan joined him. His violet eyes were bright. “It is different learning it from one who has lived it.”

 

Ser Barristan saw his opportunity. “I am sure you have lived through your own history too, your grace. May I ask how you came to wear that scar?”

 

The smile dropped from Aegon’s face. “Cersei Lannister sent Gregor Clegane after me. She has necromancers.” He touched the scar with his fingers and frowned. “He was monstrous. It was an evil thing to do. I want her head. Arya might have died. Many others did die, including somebody I considered a good friend.”

 

Tyrion Lannister was without a smile. “That sounds like my sweet sister.”

 

“Gregor Clegane died,” Ser Barristan said. “How can such a thing be possible?”

 

Aegon shook his head. “I do not know. It took fire to stop him. Gregor’s own brother did for him.”

 

Tyrion Lannister remained unusually silent. Ser Barristan did not quite know what to say himself. He did know he needed to inform Daenerys.

 

“My aunt does not trust me does she?”

 

Ser Barristan was caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. “Daenerys has been through trials. Men do unimaginable things upon seeing the dragons. Few who seek her now do it merely for the pleasure of her company.”

 

Aegon nodded. “I do not solely seek her dragons. We are kin. I do not come begging. The high lords back my claim. If we unite then it will save us both a deal of trouble.”

 

Ser Barristan saw the sense of it but he still had his own reservations, ones he knew Daenerys shared.  _She must be careful who she trusts with the dragons._ Looking upon the young man he did wonder if he was being unfair.  _Am I judging him harshly to assuage my own guilt?_  Not all Targaryens went down the same path as Aerys, it was true.

 

“You are more open than I might have expected but Daenerys has had suitors before. They have made her offers before and she has been somewhat fonder of them.”

 

Aegon’s mouth twisted. “Dany is beautiful and she has dragons. I do not doubt that men made fools of themselves. I know of the sellsword.” Aegon glanced at Tyrion and Ser Barristan wondered at what counsel the imp offered. “I am her kin and I do not wish for us to oppose one another.”

 

Ser Barristan remembered him using the same words when speaking with Daenerys. “Daenerys does not wish to oppose you either.”

 

Aegon smiled. “I have my own reasons to worry. I have not forgotten my cousin and neither have the Dornish. I will learn to know Dany but it must needs happen quickly. In the meantime I need to deal with the matter of the iron born.”

 

Ser Barristan felt disquieted. “What is it you have planned?”

 

Aegon shook his head. “Lady Asha tells me her uncle Euron is mad. I sent ships to Oldtown. I did not know of my Aunt’s alliance. I must hope a raven will reach them so I can delay them until Lady Asha speaks with Victarion Greyjoy. My cousin Obara will be displeased but I will insist that she heeds me.”

 

Tyrion Lannister appeared to be gaining rather too much enjoyment from the information. Ser Barristan knew he must speak with Daenerys and with haste. The iron born assistance always felt wrong and he now began to feel it to be on even more unstable foundations.

 

“Daenerys does not trust them blindly,” he offered.

 

Aegon grimaced. “Daenerys should not trust them at all. Please tell her so, Ser. I shall tell her myself when I meet her at supper.”

 

Ser Barristan took his leave. It was all well and good for Aegon to speak of trust. The young man had tried to charm him, Ser Barristan knew. It worked to a certain extent too but trust was not so easily earned. Ser Barristan still did not know enough even if he did know more.

 

_Daenerys will want far more before she trusts him near her dragons._

It was that thought he dwelled on as he tried to convince himself that he did not betray his duty. He had made failures in the past. Even in doing his duty to Aerys, in obeying those commands, his conscience bothered him. Ser Barristan served the mother of dragons and the dragons would decide the matter, one way or another.

 


	95. Chapter 95: Melisandre & Jon

**Chapter 95: Melisandre & Jon**

**Melisandre**

 

Melisandre was used to people fearing her. They feared her still. They feared the power that R’hllor gave her. That power grew stronger at the Wall. Their fear was not the problem. The problem was the continued mistrust. Jon Snow believed. It took him too long but he did believe. That belief did not equate with trust.

 

_He blames me for the death of the princess._

 

Melisandre tried to warn Stannis about Patchface. She told him of the skulls, of that creature bringing death. She did not know the princess would be amongst the dead. She did not know Queen Selyse would be amongst the dead. She did not know when it might happen. If she had time to mourn, if it might achieve something she would. It would only cost them all precious time so she did not.

 

The Lord Commander did not attend upon her. When she did see him he appeared angered.

 

“You have your king’s blood sacrifice priestess.”

 

Melisandre touched the ruby at her throat. The thought had occurred to her too but it was not a welcome one.

 

“The sacrifice was not the one I wished to make. It was not done in accordance with R’hllor.”

 

_The power of the sacrifice does not benefit us._

 

Jon Snow did not want to hear it. They had quarrelled many times about the bastard boy, Gendry. The Lord Commander refused to hear of offering him to the Lord of Light.

 

“The enemy grows stronger. I fear that soon it will be too late.”

 

Jon Snow frowned, took his leave and turned on his heel. Melisandre knew he understood the threat. He spoke often enough of the dead things still to come. The Great Other did not send their full numbers but the time drew near. Melisandre saw it in the flames and she feared that they might lose. In her visions they faced more than just the dead.

 

_We cannot afford to lose._

 

The messages were only half-revealed and Melisandre did not always uncover their secrets in time. She still saw Jon Snow, R’hllor’s champion. Stannis also appeared in her flames, even if he was not Azor Ahai.  _He took me to the chosen one._  R’hllor sent the messages but even with all her years of training Melisandre erred in reading them.

 

_I saw what I wished to see. I almost brought myself down with a false vision._

It was not truly false but her reading of it took her further from the path, it cost her time they did not have to spare. Melisandre did not like errors. She knew she must be more certain now. Stannis was still an instrument of R’hllor, even if he was not the chosen one. Others still appeared to her too. She saw the one with the thousand eyes who watched her and the boy who howled like a wolf.

 

_The Great Other sees us and he knows we are vulnerable. We need the dragon._

 

Melisandre saw winged beasts every night now, more than one of them. It made her doubt for a time. It made her think on what the girl said.

 

_Arya Stark claimed that Daenerys Targaryen was the one of prophecy._

 

R’hllor still showed Melisandre visions of Jon Snow. The revelation of his blood confirmed it. When she asked for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, R’hllor showed her Snow. Melisandre would not be led astray again. The messages had been sent to her long before hearing of the dragon queen. She saw Snow when Stannis was battling to retake Winterfell.

 

The Lord Commander slept little. Melisandre saw it in his face. Between the report from the Nightfort, the continued threat from dead men and the ravens from the South, Jon Snow’s burden seemed almost too much for him to carry.

 

“Let me be of service,” she urged him. “There will be power from our union.”

 

He pulled away from her again. This time his grey eyes were cold but he did not retreat.

 

“There are survivors at the Nightfort. Lord Davos sent a raven reporting that more men have returned.”

 

Melisandre laid her hand on his arm.

 

“They are dead men. I have seen men whose touch turns others to stone. They are unclean. They must not be allowed to infect the others.”

 

He stared at her.

 

“The wildlings say the same but these men are not dead. The Princess lived with the illness-“

 

Melisandre interjected. “This is different. You cannot take such a risk.”

 

He nodded slowly, looking weary. “The Nightfort must be abandoned.”

 

“That would be wise.”

 

The look the Lord Commander gave her told her more than words might.

 

“Stannis will not want to see you.”

 

The King arrived almost a moon after the raven reporting the death of Princess Shireen and Queen Selyse. His presence proved that Jon Snow told it true. The anger and grief hung like a cloud over Stannis. Lord Davos too did not disguise his disapproval of Melisandre.

 

“If you had warned us earlier the Princess might still live. I will never understand my lady.”

 

She heard them speaking with the Lord Commander. Jon Snow uttered the familiar phrase, the one he learned from the wildling woman.

 

“Sorcery is a sword without a hilt.”

 

Her warning to Lord Davos when he left Castle Black had been taken the wrong way.

 

_I saw Stannis losing his path. I did not see the cause._

 

She let them be, having to remain content with Davos aiding Stannis. Melisandre still wished to help him. He would be needed in the fight but until he wished for her help she knew she must focus her attention where it might have the most effect. Stannis did not linger at the castle long, returning to the Nightfort to make final arrangements.

 

The arrival of yet another raven and the whispers around the castle prompted her to seek the Lord Commander again. She found him brooding in his solar. He acknowledged the threat of the Great Other, he did not veer from his focus on the war but he stubbornly refused to embrace his destiny.

 

_Still distrustful, still suspicious, still in the shadow of his trueborn kin_

The Lord Commander refused to welcome the truth of his birth. Instead he chose to mourn the loss of Ned Stark, the father who never was, to be angry at the lies.

 

_He will always see himself as a bastard._

 

“I have heard,” she informed him. “I saw it in the flames but I have heard that the dragons are here. Your kin may answer your call.”

 

Snow tensed. “She is not my kin.”

 

They had discussed this before. He always said the same thing.

 

_“Rhaegar Targaryen already had a wife.”_

 

The Lord Commander focused too much on his Stark mother and not enough on his father’s blood. A brief smile flitted over his lips and she knew there to be more, even if he did remain troubled.

 

“It is as you say Priestess. Even with my wish for her to not be in the midst of war Arya will come. She appears wroth with me for suggesting I wish for her to be safe.”

 

Melisandre smiled. “She is not new to war. She has only been fighting the wrong war. You wish to see her.”

 

Jon frowned. “Of course I wish to see her. She is my...“ He trailed off.

 

_He wished to say little sister._

 

“You are still her brother,” Melisandre said. “She knows no different. Arya Stark has a role in this war. You must not resist her presence.”

 

His frown deepened. “I do not wish to lie to her Priestess.”

 

“You love her dearly.” She saw the Lord Commander stiffen and begin to argue. She spoke over him. “You died in an attempt to save her, even if saving her was not your sole purpose. Your blood will not matter unless you let it.”

 

He gave her a sharp look and a wry smile. “I would be glad to think that. If only you might accept it too.”

 

Melisandre could not help but laugh, even with the doom lingering over them.

 

“I will speak of it no more for now.”

 

She left the rest unsaid.  _Soon you will be forced to face it._  She returned to her chambers only to pass Davos Seaworth, newly returned again from the Nightfort. She knew he wished her ill but he did not mean to harm her by his own hand, not at that time.

 

“I did not see the death of the Princess. I hope that she did not suffer.”

 

Davos grimaced.

 

“It is Stannis’ suffering which concerns me now. He gave the order and watched the men burn the bodies of his wife and daughter along with the rest of the dead.”

 

Melisandre hurried to her hearth, worried more than she dared to say. She uttered the prayers and saw the visions come to life, praying that she was wrong. She had seen it, seen it over and over but it was only half revealed. R’hllor only showed her the flight, not how it happened.

 

_It still might be the bastard boy. The dragons have arrived but the stone beast might still be to come._

 

She knew her mistake as the image formed in the flames. The body burned and she saw it and knew it to be the past, not the future. The figures watching retreated and a winged creature, many leagues away, rose and screamed into the air.

 

_The stone beast has taken flight._

Melisandre had seen it as something to bring about. That was why she tried so hard to convince Stannis to sacrifice Edric Storm. She thought R’hllor meant for her to use it as an instrument.

 

_I was meant to prevent it._

 

**Jon**

The Priestess had shut herself away. Jon felt a little troubled by it. Her absence did make matters easier with Stannis present. The king wished for the red woman to die. His grief mixed with his anger.

 

“She says she did not know, Sire.”

 

Stannis ground his teeth.

 

“Are you fool enough to believe her? She has wanted a sacrifice with king’s blood for years.”

 

Jon saw the flicker of fear on the face of the priestess when he made the same accusation.

 

“I do not believe she planned this Sire,” he said stubbornly. “We have other matters to attend to.”

 

Stannis seemed weary of the other matters. He had arrived at Castle Black, given and taken counsel, returned to the Nightfort briefly before taking up residence once again in the King’s Tower. He seemed inclined to stay there. Only Lord Davos spurred him into action again.

 

“You still have a duty. You said it yourself.”

 

Jon prompted him.

 

“Is the quarantine in place?”

 

Lord Davos appeared uncomfortable. “There is no quarantine, my lord.”

 

Jon could not hide his surprise. “May I ask why not?”

 

Stannis did not mince his words. “They are dead.”

 

He knew Stannis capable of being ruthless when necessary. He did not expect this.

 

“How did it happen, sire?”

 

Lord Davos supplied the answer.

 

“They deserted their post in fear that the castle was cursed. When the King gave them a second chance, to take their punishment and live in isolation in the Nightfort they attempted to repeat the offence.”

 

_Desertion is treason. The punishment is death._

 

Jon sighed. He supposed it to be for the best. They could not afford an outbreak of greyscale. So many other threats lay ahead of them already.

 

“Are you certain that no others have the disease?”

 

Stannis gave him a withering look.

 

“I am not unaware of the risks, Lord Commander.”

 

Jon endured the King’s displeasure. He was about to take his leave when Lord Davos cleared his throat.

 

“The Wall is still undermanned and even more so now. King Stannis made a request before the dead attacked.”

 

Jon remembered the request.

 

“Lady Melisandre told it true. I have word that Arya is travelling North. I will send a request to Winterfell for fighting men.”

 

When he returned to his solar he drew out the letter. The previous one scolded him enough to make him smile. This one made his chest feel tight.

 

_I have spoken to your brother from the Night’s Watch. I know what it is that you face. I am sorry Jon. I am coming. If I had known the whole truth I never would have left. I miss you._

 

He felt selfish for being happy for a moment. He felt selfish for wanting her there. The excitement he felt at the thought of seeing her smile, of seeing her for more than a day or two and being able to muss her hair mixed with the guilt of needing her safe.

 

_This is not the place for a woman, even one like Arya._

 

He thought of her other news, that she might have found Sansa. It did not make him pleased. It only gave him more kin to fear for.

 

_Sansa should have remained in the South._

 

Mormont’s raven flew at him.

 

“Warg,” it shrieked. “Warg.”

 

Ghost stirred at his feet. Jon frowned and waved the raven away. It had behaved even more oddly with time. He knew it had heard the word but repeating it still seemed queer. It made him think not only of Ghost but Arya and Rickon and their wolves too. He knew them to be wargs. Others spoke of rumours but Jon knew it to be truth.

 

_It is not a welcome truth to those who do not know us._

 

Jon harnessed the ability better after Melisandre revived him. He used it during the wight attacks. He made use of it once again when they met with another wave of dead men. Melisandre emerged from hiding to use her fire magic. She watched the sky.

 

“Are you expecting dragons my lady?” he asked her, only half in jest.

 

“You will need the dragons,” she answered seriously. “I have seen terrible things.”

 

The battle was a short one though it still served to show how woefully prepared they were for a full onslaught.

 

“The Wall is our best weapon,” he observed from standing atop it.

 

Melisandre stood quietly beside him, her red robes billowing and her red eyes looking into the distance.

 

“I fear for the day it falls,” she said softly.

 

Jon realised on his way back down from the Wall that she did not speak of  _if_  it fell. He remembered talk of the horn of Joramun, that the free folk confessed to Mance’s horn being a fake and felt unsettled.

 

_If it falls then the war will be lost._

 


	96. Chapter 96: Aegon

**Chapter 96: Aegon**

 

Brynden Tully wore a black expression and even Aegon’s presence did little to lighten his mood. Aegon was not feeling particularly joyful himself. He and Dany supped together each day and she treated him with courtesy but she still held so much back from him, namely the dragons. Sometimes she let her guard down and treated him fondly but then the Khaleesi returned.

 

“You may visit freely with Lord Edmure,” Aegon offered. “I have seen him myself. He does not lack for comfort.”

 

The Blackfish scowled. “I am sure he is being treated as an honoured guest.”

 

Aegon understood Ser Brynden’s displeasure. He had made promises to both Arya and Ser Brynden that Edmure would be retrieved if he lived. Those promises were made before Dany took Casterly Rock.

 

“Arya does not truly want the crown,” he told the Blackfish. “Will it truly be so terrible to give it up? I still intend to have Cersei executed. Those who killed Eddard Stark, Robb Stark and Lady Catelyn have been brought to justice.”

 

The Blackfish softened a little. He even offered Aegon a kind smile.

 

“This is about more than you and I. This is about more than Daenerys and Ned Stark and Cat and our dead king. The North and the Riverlands have no wish to be ruled by Kings Landing. We have no quarrel with you but we will not bend the knee and be subject to the whims and demands of unjust rulers. Can you promise us that your son will not ask for our heads? Can you promise us that your grandson will not bring us wars?”

 

Aegon looked at him and then he knew.  _This is about Aerys as much as Cersei._

 

“Will you stand against dragons?” he asked quietly. “Arya spoke of Torrhen Stark. She will not want people to die for a crown she does not want. Ask her.”

 

Ser Brynden sighed and avoided Aegon’s gaze. “I have long thought about the affection she bears toward you. Arya may have a wildness in her but she does not choose without thought. Do you truly wish for me to tell her you have asked for the North to bend the knee?”

 

Aegon did not anticipate the Blackfish using his feelings for Arya against him. It angered him but it also brought the shame to the surface that he felt every time he spoke with his Aunt with anything more than practicality. Affection bestowed upon Dany felt like a betrayal of Arya.

 

“Daenerys will insist upon the seven kingdoms being under our rule.”

 

Ser Brynden raised an eyebrow. “Our rule?” he questioned. “I did not think Daenerys had agreed to a betrothal. I will not write Arya.”

 

Aegon fumed. “You are the Hand of the King.”

 

The Blackfish laughed. “We had an understanding when I agreed to the position.” His expression remained obstinate. “The journey North is a long one. Arya will want her home and her family. She will want freedom. If you wish to take that from her I suggest  _you_  write her. I am Hand but I serve my family first. You know my House words.”

 

The anger seeped out of Aegon quickly. Arya did not want the crown. Aegon  _knew_  she did not want the crown but he also remembered her in the godswood.

 

_“You have never asked me to kneel.”_

Ser Brynden told him in Pinkmaiden that Arya did not like confinement. He hated himself for his cowardice but he did not wish to be the one to tell her that she must kneel. Aegon might have had to give her up but he did not want to imagine her resenting him. He wanted to remember her smiling at him, laughing and japing and telling him secrets she shared with no other.

 

“I do not wish for the dragons to be a part of this.”

 

The Blackfish snorted. “Dragons will be a part of this whether you will it or no. Daenerys made no mention of them. It is enough to make one curious that she does not use them as her show of power.”

 

Aegon hesitated a moment and inspected the scar on his palm. “Tyrion told Nym that two of them are wild. I have heard enough within the castle now to confirm it.” When he looked up Ser Brynden wore a grim expression.

 

“It would be better for all if they were put to death.” Aegon began to protest but Ser Brynden spoke over him. “Dragons destroy, they are weapons. An uncontrolled weapon is a danger to us all. Can you imagine if one of them was unleashed by the wrong person?”

 

Aegon did not have to imagine, not truly. The images in his dreams came back to him. He still could not fathom the thought of killing the dragons though. They were the sigil of his House. Aegon wanted them desperately even though part of him feared the dreams coming true. He studied Ser Brynden suspiciously.

 

“Do you intend to harm them?”

 

The Blackfish laughed. “I would not know how. If you fear an attempt it is not me you must worry about.”

 

He seemed to be telling the truth. Aegon knew Ser Brynden to be an honest man and he gave good counsel even if he showed his disapproval of Aegon’s current course of action.

 

_He remains my ally._

“I must return to the castle. If you have need of me send a messenger.”

 

Ser Brynden gave him a warmer smile this time.

 

“I will. Do take care. I do not wish to deal with the aftermath if any ill befalls you.”

 

Aegon gave him a grin. “I shall do my best.”

 

*

 

Aegon was writing letters when Asha Greyjoy darkened his doorway. He put aside the quill and flexed his hand, grateful for the excuse to stop. The sheets of parchment made a fair pile, with letters to Magister Illyrio, Lord Randyll, another to Obara in case she ignored the first and finally one to Haldon. He hesitated to write to the halfmaester but the man had served him longer than any but Lemore. It was not odd to wish to inform him of certain developments and to ask of news from the North.

 

“You wished to see me your grace?”

 

Aegon nodded to her and Lady Asha took a knee. Her smile always seemed to be laughing at him. It was rather off putting. He urged her to rise and sit with him.

 

“Are you comfortable within the castle my lady?”

 

Lady Asha cocked her head to the side as though measuring the meaning of his words.

 

“The Westermen would like to see me hang. If not for the dragons they would not hesitate. My people are not welcome in Lannisport let alone within Casterly Rock itself.”

 

Aegon offered her a smile.

 

“I will not have them harm my Mistress of Ships. Dany knows you are not to be ill-treated.”

 

Asha gave an unladylike snort.

 

“You and your Aunt are not the dragons I speak of. It is those with scales the people fear.”

 

Aegon tried to suppress a scowl. He knew her not to be wrong but her blunt tongue still bothered him. His pride still hurt at not yet even seeing the dragons aside from a glimpse of them flying overhead.

 

“Have you spoken with Lord Victarion?”

 

Asha made another noise.

 

“I have not been given leave to join the fleet. If I did I may well lose my head. My nuncle wants me dead.”

 

“Dany tells me that Victarion wishes to sit the Seastone chair.”

 

Asha did not look convinced.

 

“Victarion Greyjoy follows orders. He was sent to find dragons and here we are. He sailed across the world at my nuncle’s bidding. I am no craven but I cannot serve you if I am executed and I will not abandon Theon by handing myself over. I must meet my nuncle Victarion away from his men.”

 

Aegon frowned. “How do you propose to do that?”

 

Asha grinned. “I have made certain to be heard by the right ears. He will want to see me. It will not take long.”

 

Aegon sighed. Lady Asha did not lack for wits even if she tended to be rather reckless. He supposed he must not fault her for that. The same charge had been levelled at him more than once.

 

“You best be quick about it,” he warned. “I cannot promise I will continue to restrain my cousin.”

 

The look she gave him told him she saw the lie.  _She knows Obara wants Oldtown to burn._  Asha did not call him on it.

 

“They risk losses if they try, I did counsel you before. Take heart though, I do not expect to wait.”

 

She took her leave, hips swaying as she strolled out his door. Her unbridled confidence had him wondering what on earth she had said to pique the Ironborn interest. Lysono Maar might know. Aegon resolved to ask him.

 

 _Everybody has their secrets_.

 

The Golden Company’s Master of Whisperers had his own. The revelation of the Golden Company being for Viserys first bothered him. He held in those questions for now. The parchment caught his eye again and he folded the letters and sealed them, stamping the three headed dragon into the wax on each. The one for Magister Illyrio was the last. Dany wished to see the Magister and she was not alone in that.

 

_We both need answers._

 

*

 

Another disappointing meeting with his Aunt drove Aegon back to his chambers. He found Nym waiting for him. Her dark eyes flashed with anger when she took in his demeanour.

 

“She is still refusing to let you see them?”

 

His hesitation gave her the answer. Nym rose from her chair.

 

“Do not do anything foolish cousin,” he warned. “Stay here with me. It is some time since we last truly spoke.”

 

Nymeria eyed him for a moment and Aegon feared she might leave anyway. When she sat she smiled at him.

 

“Is that your way of saying you missed me?”

 

Aegon laughed. His laughter did not last when he saw the book sitting by her elbow. He beckoned for her to pass it and she frowned.

 

“You show more interest in the book than you do your kin. There are matters we must speak of your grace. Do not dismiss me to indulge in reading too soon.”

 

Her use of his title captured Aegon’s attention. He knew it must be important if she would resort to courtesies.

 

“What is it?”

 

Nym pursed her lips and Aegon knew immediately that he would not like whatever it was. He was not wrong.

 

“If Daenerys insists upon hoarding three dragons we must consider measures to even our causes.”

 

“No,” he said quickly.

 

Nym’s voice lowered to a purr. “It need not even seem that you knew. We will take responsibility. The Dornish are not without experience in this. It will be justice for Quentyn.”

 

“No,” Aegon said more loudly. He remembered the conversation with Ser Brynden. His feelings were unchanged. The dragons were not be harmed. “You will make war a certainty.”

 

Nymeria did not appear the least bothered by the idea.

 

“I do not see war being avoidable. She has not accepted your suit.”

 

Aegon felt his nails dig into his palm.

 

“She may still.”

 

Nym flicked her braid and gave him a patronising look.

 

“You do not truly want her to. Without her dragons she is no threat.”

 

Aegon shook his head.

 

“Enough Nym,” he said sharply. “This talk is foolish. You will get yourself killed and all our allies too. Leave the dragons be. There is still time.”

 

The look she gave him expressed her disagreement. Her viper eyes narrowed as she scowled.

 

“You must not be blind cousin. If Arya were here she would give you the same counsel.”

 

The mention of Arya’s name snapped any patience Aegon had left.

 

“If you think that then you do not know Arya at all. She might be impulsive but she is not stupid. She knew the dragons to be important. Leave me. I do not want to look at you while you speak such foolishness.”

 

Nym obeyed his command. She did not offer the usual kiss when she took her leave. Part of him dwelled on her words long after she was gone, harbouring both resentment and doubt. He felt very alone even with kingsguard knights at his door. It took him time to finally drag the book closer and open it to read.

 

He focused rather less on the text and more on the additions in Arya’s hand. Those who saw him poring over the pages did not understand. They thought he clung to it because she gave it to him. It was much more than that. Aegon discovered upon first reading it that she not only wrote down useful information, in places she had scrawled her own opinions. The first time he came across a note pronouncing one of the knights as stupid he had laughed. He still smiled at some of the things she had written.

 

_Some of it is not for other eyes._

 

Arya showed her trust in him with some of the secrets the book contained. Aegon knew he should have it locked away. He entertained the idea before realising that might draw even more attention to it. He flipped the pages to a section on earlier Targaryen kings. The account was that of a prince with a dragon egg and his failed hopes of hatching it. Arya had scrawled down the margin and he frowned as he read what she wrote.

 

_Fire and blood are not just words._

 

Her writing became cramped but Aegon could see she had written something more about blood. He was trying to puzzle out the meaning of it when a shadow fell across the page. He raised his head to see Tyrion Lannister peering at the book.

                                            

“How long have you been here?”

 

The dwarf gave him a grotesque smile. “Long enough to see you are far more interested in history than you seemed back on the Shy Maid. Most people find the accounts of the archmaesters rather dry.”

 

“It depends on the archmaester,” Aegon said quickly.

 

Tyrion smiled again and sat in a chair without awaiting an invitation. “I must say I never found that one quite as amusing as you seem to. I did announce myself. I can understand you not seeing a small man like me but I expected you might hear me.”

 

Aegon glanced at the guards on his door and they nodded. He moved to close the book but Tyrion put his hand on the page, his mismatched eyes scanning the writing. Aegon scowled but the dwarf did not take the hint.

 

“Haldon knows more than I gave him credit for.”

 

Aegon gave him a look of disdain.

 

“Do not think me stupid. You know it is not in Haldon’s hand.”

 

Tyrion’s grin made Aegon feel like a fool.  _He is baiting me._  Aegon remained silent, not interested in offering up the name who penned the notes.

 

“It is said that Barth made similar observations,” Tyrion finally offered.

 

Aegon eyed him warily and decided to just let him see the pages.  _He has seen enough that there is no gain in hiding it._ Tyrion pulled the book closer and frowned at the words.

 

“What did Barth say about it?” Aegon asked, trying not to sound too eager.

 

Tyrion looked up and cocked his head.

 

“It is given little credit. The maesters refute all of Barth’s works, the ones Blessed Baelor did not burn.”

 

He pulled a face and Aegon tried very hard not to laugh.

 

“Dany tells me the maesters don’t like magic.”

 

Tyrion flipped the page and Aegon resisted the urge to wrench the book from his grasp. Tyrion grinned and Aegon knew he had found one of the more colourful opinions.

 

“The Khaleesi has been listening to Marwyn,” Tyrion observed mildly. “If he is to be believed the Citadel would like her killed.”

 

Aegon thought back to Kings Landing and the Faith Militant. He thought of the faceless men and their numerous attempts and the enemies hiding in plain sight amongst his allies.

 

_There is always somebody wanting to kill those with power._

 

He might have commented on it. He might also have pressed Tyrion to speak more of what he knew of Barth’s writings but the arrival of Grey Worm removed the opportunity. Aegon knew that the Unsullied were devoted to Dany and that they would blindly follow her to death if need be. Something about Grey Worm still made him uncomfortable.

 

“This one has been sent to give you a message.”

 

Aegon braced himself. Daenerys did not take kindly to his questions about the dragons. He knew he had pushed her in their supper. Aegon had become frustrated and Dany responded kindly enough but he saw the hardness in her eyes. He nodded to the eunuch and Grey Worm delivered the message.

 

“Khaleesi invites you to break your fast with her on the morrow.” He turned to Tyrion. “Khaleesi wishes to speak with Lord Tyrion.”

 

The eunuch stood expectantly, making it clear that it was an order rather than a request and to be carried out immediately. Tyrion sighed, gave the book one last longing look and pushed it back to Aegon.

 

“Do take care with that,” the dwarf warned. “It would be a terrible crime if it went the way of the other works we spoke of.”

 

Aegon glanced at Grey Worm as he closed the book and Tyrion struggled down from his chair to waddle across to the door. The eunuch did not appear to be watching him but it seemed as though he still saw. His face lacked any expression, even when Tyrion offered some jape.

 

 _I am being foolish._   _It is in his training to care about nothing more than Dany’s orders._

 

He still felt better when Grey Worm was gone. This time he did put the book in a chest under clothes and furs, hoping it might be secure. His mind turned to Dany instead, wondering what it was that she wanted.

 

*

 

The food on offer when he joined her the next morning was not what he had become accustomed to in Casterly Rock. It was a simple porridge and some dried fruit. Aegon ate it without complaint, wondering at what appearance she wished to present by shunning extravagance. She sat cross legged on a cushion, her silvery gold hair in braids with the usual bells adorning it. The miniature portrait of her mother was clutched in her hand.

 

“I have asked for your patience,” she said softly. “I know it has tried you.”

 

He wanted to deny the charge but it was true. Dany gazed at the picture and smiled. It was a sad smile. Aegon had thought it a good idea when Varys gave it to him to offer as a gift to his aunt. He had not anticipated how much of an effect it would have on Daenerys.

 

_She might have been a queen and a conqueror but she is still a person, lonely and mourning those she lost._

 

“We are kin,” Dany told him. “I wished for that to mean more than a claim to dragons.”

 

She set the miniature down and Aegon did not know what to say. The show of vulnerability made him feel guilt.  _If she had arrived in Westeros earlier all would be different._  If he had not met Arya, if they had conquered together, all might be changed. He still felt she had misunderstood him.

 

“I want us to be kin too,” he protested. “We  _are_  kin. If I made it seem that matters little it was not my intent.”

 

He took her hand and pressed his lips to it. Dany smiled.

 

“You must eat,” she urged. “My children grow impatient when I make them wait and I wish for you to meet Drogon.”

 

Aegon could not hide his own smile. The black beast was said to be Balerion come again. The idea of seeing him at long last made it difficult to keep his courtesies and finish the meal in any dignified fashion. Dany laughed at him when he rose to walk with her, his guards and hers following like shadows.

  
“You do not hide your emotions well Aegon.”

 

Aegon grinned. “Arya always said the same. She scolded me for it.”

 

Dany frowned and Aegon realised what he had done. His own smile fled. Dany continued walking and Aegon kept pace beside her. He blamed her for the slip. His Aunt wore leathers and a woollen jerkin. She was dressed much as Arya often did. He feared for a heartbeat that she might refuse to let him see the dragon after all. Instead they continued on out of the castle. They had left the gates before she spoke.

 

“What is Lady Arya truly like? I have heard the stories but after knowing what people say of me I do not wish to rely upon rumours.”

 

Aegon eyed her warily. He did not wish to speak of his lover to the woman he was currently pursuing, even if his efforts did seem to be going poorly. In fact he especially did not want to speak of Arya to Dany considering he gave Arya up and for a time it appeared for naught. Dany offered him no escape from the question so he tried to choose his words carefully.

 

“Arya does not consider herself a lady but takes pride in her House. She is devoted to her family and will not bend when it comes to dispensing Northern justice.”

 

The bells in Dany’s hair tinkled as the wind caught them. She seemed deep in thought as she mounted her horse and waited for him to do the same.

 

“Why do you say Northern justice?”

 

Aegon felt uncomfortable but Dany seemed genuinely curious. She did not speak of old grievances and feuds between families. He knew that Ser Barristan and Tyrion had informed her of the truth of the rebellion and its causes. The Blackfish had also said plenty but Aegon heard enough to know that exchange did not go well.

 

“The North has their own customs.”

 

He explained it as they rode, telling her of them not using executioners and of the Watch and traditions he had learned from Arya. Dany listened quietly and her guards did not interrupt. When he was finished he fell silent and waited for more personal questions. They did not come. The unsullied were gathered in a clearing as the horses approached. Aegon noted that the Greyjoy banner flew in the gathering too.

 

“Victarion is here,” he said stiffly.

 

Dany lifted her chin a little. “I requested to meet with him today.”

 

Aegon’s initial excitement at finally having the opportunity to see the dragon began to give way to resentment. As he drew closer he saw Tyrion Lannister and Nymeria Sand. The two were conversing and Aegon saw his cousin laugh. He remembered their last conversation and wondered if Dany knew the dangerous game she played.

 

“You invited Lady Nym.”

 

Dany tensed. “She was with Tyrion at the time I met with him. I did not intend this but she appeared to take offence at exclusion. I expected you knew.”

 

Aegon scowled. His cousin likely harboured a grudge after their quarrel. Nym did offer him a little wave when he dismounted. Dany moved away to begin giving orders. He wanted to protest, to argue that as a Targaryen and King that he should be afforded more respect but most of those gathered deferred to Daenerys and Aegon did not wish to provoke bloodshed. He also did not want to sound like a sulky child. Tyrion nodded to him.

 

“I’m sure it will be quite the demonstration.”

 

Aegon could not help feeling a fool once again.  _Of course it is a demonstration._  He should have guessed when Dany named only the black dragon.  _She wishes to show the one under her control._  It took quite some effort to repress his resentment when Dany called to him. She was smiling and he saw that the eunuchs had brought carts containing carcasses of horses.

 

“I thought you wished for  _me_  to see the dragon,” he bit out.

 

Her expression softened. “There will be time enough for that Aegon.”

 

He supposed it would have to do. Dany took the dragon horn from Grey Worm and blew it. It did not take long before the winged shadow loomed overhead, throwing all into darkness as he flew between them and the sun. Drogon landed heavily and with an almighty crunch which seemed to almost crack the earth. Aegon froze on the spot, fear mixing with fascination as he finally looked upon the great beast.

 

Although others gathered to watch, Dany and Aegon were the closest. The dragon stood only a few feet away. His scales were the blackest of black, his horns and eyes as red as blood. The dragon snorted and smoke billowed from his nostrils. Next to Aegon Dany spoke sweetly in High Valyrian, in a similar manner one might use for a child. The dragon stepped closer and Dany met it, her hand running over the scales. She laughed when he roared.

 

“He is hungry,” she said calmly.

 

Aegon felt no such calm. His heart hammered in his chest. He knew himself to be privileged to be seeing the dragon. They had been dead for so long but the teachings of Lord Connington and Haldon kept repeating in his head. Aegon was a Targaryen and the dragons were his sigil. It was only right that he see them. Seeing them was the very least of what he must do given what lay ahead.

 

_I must not be afraid._

 

He tried to forget his dreams and took one deep breath and then another.  _The dragon will not harm me._ The carts were unloaded and the eunuchs retreated. Aegon’s pulse began to slow a little and he took a step forward.

 

“That is unwise,” Dany said quietly. “He is aggressive with others and he does not know you yet. You must wait until he has eaten.” She left the dragon to the offerings and moved to Aegon’s side. She even took his hand. “You are doing well.”

 

Aegon did not feel he was doing well but he nodded dumbly. “What of the other two dragons?”

 

Dany shook her head and her bells tinkled again. “They have already eaten.”

 

He was just trying to repress a smirk, thinking she had managed to stage things exactly as she must have wished when a shriek pierced the air and he heard the people behind him exclaiming. Drogon answered it with his own call and another beast landed beside him. Dany’s grip on his hand became so tight it hurt before she let go. She called for the eunuchs, speaking rapidly in High Valyrian. The words were not meant for his ears but Aegon understood every one of them.

 

_This was not supposed to happen._

 

The unsullied herded the onlookers away but Aegon stood completely forgotten. The fear returned but not in the same measure as when he initially saw Drogon. The second dragon was smaller but still of an intimidating size. His scales were cream in colour and when he began to quarrel with Drogon, jostling over the same carcass and showing teeth like black daggers, he breathed flame of pale gold shot through with red and orange. His larger brother won the contest and that was when the cream dragon turned and noticed Aegon.

 

The dragon moved quickly, his wings extended as he lunged forward and Aegon’s gaze locked with his golden eyes. Aegon did not move. He did not know if he was capable of it but he did not have the time to think. It stopped just before it reached him, tilting its head as if examining him and Aegon let out the breath he was holding. He swallowed hard.

 

“Viserion,” he said and he hated that his voice shook.

 

He wanted to try to talk to the dragon, to make some pathetic effort at imitating what Dany did with Drogon but his ears were ringing and his mouth was dry and he was surprised he had not pissed himself. He thanked the gods for only having had porridge and in that moment realised why Dany chose the bland food.

 

Viserion shrieked and looked at him again. Another step and those razor teeth were only a foot away. Before the dragon could come any closer Aegon heard the crack of a whip

 

“Viserion,” Dany called. “Viserion.”

 

The dragon knew his name. He turned back to his mother and Aegon saw that Drogon had moved further away. The cream dragon called to Dany, lunged towards her and then bathed a horse carcass in flame, ripped it apart and flew with part of the prize locked in his jaws. Dany moved quickly to Aegon’s side.

  
“Are you unharmed?”

 

Aegon nodded. She took his arm and he followed her to join the others. She did not linger long.

 

“I need to go to Drogon. It is best if I do not leave him. I shall sup with you later.”

 

Aegon stood with Tyrion Lannister this time watching from a safe distance. His aunt climbed onto the dragon’s back with far less effort than seemed possible and took to the air. Aegon watched until they became no more than a speck in the distance. By that time Nym had joined him and was over the quarrel and rather too open in fussing over him. Aegon had calmed enough that he could gather his wits to speak.

 

“That was not quite what I expected.”

 

Tyrion gave him a grin.

 

“It is almost exactly what  _I_ expected your grace.” His expression seemed knowing. “One might almost think Viserion liked you.”

 

All Aegon could remember was very sharp teeth which were snapped rather too close to his person. He did not intend to show his disagreement however. There were too many ears and the dwarf himself was not to be trusted. The cream dragon might not have harmed him but he did not feel that it truly loved him either. He caught sight of a man glowering at him and knew him from Lady Asha’s descriptions of him.

_Victarion Greyjoy does not love me either._

Aegon did not care if the captain disliked him. He only cared about doing what he came to do. That meant overcoming his remaining fear.  _I am a dragon_ , he told himself.  _They did not harm me and I will claim one._  He did not know how but he took encouragement from Dany’s smile and the support she gave him when facing them.

 

_It is Daenerys I must think of and she cannot refuse me forever._

 

 


	97. Chapter 97: Sansa | Bran | Arya

**Chapter 97: Sansa | Bran | Arya**

 

Sansa did not relish the thought of being exposed to the cold and the snow once more but Moat Cailin offered such little shelter that she would not miss it. The place truly was ruined and Sansa had no fond memories of it. The only good thing to come of it was Arya’s arrival. Her sister might be changed but she still meant to go to Winterfell and Sansa knew nothing would stop them returning to their home now.

 

She moved away from the window and wrapped her arms around herself. The gowns Arya gave her were much finer and warmer but with winter it was still difficult to be truly warm, especially in this castle. She gave a command to the maid and sat to have her hair brushed. Cara obeyed promptly but her hands shook. Sansa had learned well enough to recognise fear.

 

_She need not be afraid of me._

 

The maid offered her services. Sansa did not ask for her and she did not treat Cara unkindly. Sansa did not understand why Cara behaved this way towards her. Her fear and distance only served to make Sansa feel lonelier. She saw Ned Dayne but he always kept a wall of courtesy between them now, even without Ser Jaime’s remarks to cause discomfort. The Northmen were respectful now but they owed her family allegiance. They begged her pardons for their initial treatment of her but they were not  _hers_ , not truly, even if they did call her princess.

 

_I miss Myranda and Mya._

 

She tried not to think of it. Her place was in Winterfell. She was so close now and soon she would see it. She wouldn’t have to think about playing the game or Cersei and nothing would hurt her. Alone in her room Sansa tried to imagine it, to allow herself to truly hope for the first time in a long time.

 

Her thoughts were disrupted by hearing dissatisfied talk about the prisoners.  _Arya spared Ser Jaime._  Sansa did not know what to think of it. She wished him dead more than once but part of her felt relief that he lived. She did not trust him but he had brought her this far and risked himself in the process.

 

_Joffrey said I was weak and mayhaps I am._

 

“What will become of him my lord?” she asked Robett Glover at dinner. Arya was closeted away in a meeting and Lord Robett had elected to join Sansa. Sansa felt comfortable with him more than with the others. He jested but he seemed kind.

 

Lord Robett smiled at her gently. “He is to be taken before a heart tree to face judgement. It is old Northern justice.”

 

“Will he be killed?” Sansa asked.

 

Lord Robett’s smiled disappeared. “Mayhaps,” he said slowly. “The queen has said it will be decided at Torrhen’s square.”

 

Sansa did not want to reveal too much of herself but she also wanted to know more. She was used to puzzling things out and determining what people wanted. Most of the men simply wanted what she did, they wanted their homes. The captives were a separate issue and after travelling with them Sansa’s old instinct of letting it be and focusing only on what was ahead of her competed with Petyr’s lessons that knowledge was important.

 

“Do you wish him to die?” she asked.

 

Lord Robett set his jaw. “Many wish for him to die princess. Forgive me but he is fortunate nobody has forced their way past his guards and killed him.”

 

The clansmen were another matter. Sansa hesitated for a time before finding where they were being kept. The guards flanked her with weapons ready when she insisted upon seeing them. Shagga leapt to his feet when he saw her with a cry of ‘halfman’s wife.’” She noted that one of his hands looked to be grievously wounded. He appeared smaller without his axes.

 

_They only helped me because they wanted gold._

 

Telling herself so did not stop her remembering the clan leader sharing food with her during their travels down the High Road. He treated her as well as his own men, despite his fearsome appearance.

 

“They will spare you,” she informed them.

 

 _They will be hostages, just as I was_.

 

Shagga seemed to know it. She saw it in his eyes.  _He would rather die with an axe in his hand than this_. Sansa wanted to turn and leave. She did not want their eyes accusing her.

 

“Your hand,” she said hesitantly. “Has it been tended to?”

 

The way Shagga pulled it from view gave her the answer.  _I am not a bad person_ , she wanted to tell them.  _I never made you any promises. That was Ser Jaime._  Sansa wanted to tell them she had a good heart but it would mean nothing to them.

 

“Do you have a message you wish me to pass on?” she asked instead.

 

Shagga gave her a grin which did not meet his eyes. “Shagga wants his axes back.”

 

Sansa gave a stiff nod, took her leave and swept from the room trying to retain her composure. The guards eyed her doubtfully.  _I am a Stark._  She took a deep breath and willed her voice to be strong.

 

“Send a maester to tend to their hurts,” she ordered. “They are our guests until any exchange is made.”

 

The men appeared startled but they did not refuse her.

 

“It will be as you wish princess.”

 

*

 

A light snow fell on the morning they left Moat Cailin. Arya spoke little to Sansa, her time seeming to be consumed by the men who were once their father’s bannermen. Sansa knew the sigils. She recognised the Houses marching under the Stark banner. The men took their orders from Arya and Arya seemed to be giving a lot of orders. Ned joined her while she watched her sister, the scarce sunlight glinting off Arya’s crown and Nymeria never moving very far.

 

“They listen to her,” Sansa observed.

 

Ned looked wary. “She has commanded them for many moons my lady.”

 

Sansa watched a little longer. Arya passed speaking rapidly in a foreign tongue. She returned quickly and paused before Sansa. Arya did not speak immediately. She seemed to be trying to decide something. Her hand went to the crown and Sansa almost thought she grimaced as she adjusted it.

 

_It seems as though she wishes to remove it._

Arya’s hands fluttered back down to her sides and then clasped together.

 

“We don’t have a wheelhouse. Even if we did it would likely break an axle. Do you wish to ride in a wagon?”

 

Sansa could see the gathering of wagons carrying supplies. It was true that she was not fond of riding. Sansa did not like to be saddle sore but she had ridden so many leagues that she became accustomed to it. A litter would have been sweet or a wheelhouse to keep out of the snow but that was not being offered.

 

“Where will you ride?”

 

Arya’s expression was strange.

 

“I ride in the centre with my guards.”

 

She did not offer an invitation for Sansa to join her and Sansa was not certain she wished it. The man by Arya’s side, one of the Skagosi, spoke and Arya gave the smallest of smiles. Sansa did not understand a word.

 

_I do not want to feel as though I am missing out on secrets the entire march._

 

“I will ride in a wagon,” she decided.

 

Arya nodded and Sansa could not tell if she was pleased or not. “You will have good guards and Cara will ride with you. I do not expect any attack but it is best to be safe.”

 

A man rode up on a horse. He dismounted quickly and took a knee.

 

“Your grace the crannogmen wish to join your march. Lord Howland sends his regards.”

 

Sansa watched as Arya’s face softened into a warm expression.

 

“Tell him he has my gratitude.”

 

The man nodded hurried to obey. “It will be done.”

 

Arya’s warm expression faded the moment he left. Her face became very still. Sansa followed her gaze and saw Jaime Lannister being led in chains. A raven began to squawk nearby. Sansa had not forgotten what Lord Robett told her but she still felt shocked to see that he had been beaten. She must have shown something on her face because Arya almost looked like she frowned.

 

“Jaime Lannister is as bad as Cersei.”

 

Her sister sounded defensive and angry. Sansa resisted the urge to correct her. She had not forgotten the reactions to her not wishing Tyrion to be dead. She looked away from Ser Jaime but it did not stop her hearing him. He  _still_  spoke boldly and arrogantly, as though he were not a prisoner and likely to be killed. Arya watched him impassively but Sansa still felt as though Arya judged him.

 

“They will hit him again if he does not hold his tongue,” Arya said without emotion. “He is stupid. I learned quicker than him.”

 

Sansa stiffened and did not know what to say. She knew her sister had been a captive but it did not truly occur to her that Arya’s captors hurt her.  _I learned quickly too._  She did not want to tell of that, not with Ned Dayne listening. He already gaped at Arya’s admission. Sansa did not want to remember and this was not the place to speak of it. She saw that the other men did not react.

 

_They know more about Arya than I do._

 

It did not feel right but Arya seemed to have forgotten it already. “We will share a tent when we camp. I will see you at nightfall.” With that her sister turned on her heel and began to give orders once more.

 

*

 

The wagon was more comfortable than being ahorse but it was slow. Sansa did learn much more during the hours of the march. The men liked to talk to help the time pass even if Cara remained tight lipped. Sansa sensed she might learn far more from the maid but she settled for speaking with the guards who rode by the wagon. Her smiles and courtesy helped them warm to her.

 

They became decidedly less warm when a large figure loomed up on a black horse.

 

“Little bird.”

 

Sansa recognised the voice. Her guards seemed as though they wished to fight him rather than let him near her. Sansa did not know quite what she felt. She had dreamed of him only the night before and it had not been a pleasant dream. He laughed at the men pressing close to the wagon.

 

“Your bloody sister is keeping you caged now.”

 

The suggestion bothered her. Ned had drawn his sword even though Sansa knew he did not like to use it. The Hound gave him a scornful look.

 

“Do you want me to teach you how to use that?”

 

“He will not harm me my lord,” Sansa said quickly to Ned, knowing it was true. “I will hear what he wishes to say.”

 

Ned gave her a look which clearly told her he thought she had lost her mind. The Hound did not move much closer.

 

“They gave you to the Imp. I should have cut his throat before I left.”

 

 _He hates Tyrion,_  she realised immediately. It was in his voice and his bearing. Even if Sansa wished to endure the disapproval and shock of the Northmen once more in telling that Tyrion was kind to her Sandor Clegane certainly would not want to hear it.

 

“If not him they would have given me to another Lannister,” she said instead, remembering her wedding day and Tyrion offering that she might wed Lancel.

 

Clegane snorted. “Any other Lannister would be better than that.”

 

“I would rather not be wed to a Lannister at all.”

 

Her answer satisfied the men around her but she felt the Hound’s gaze. He had always seen through her.  _It is the truth._  She waited for him to ask about Joffrey but he didn’t. He moved as if to come closer and her men protested once more.

 

“Don’t piss yourselves,” the Hound replied scornfully. “I won’t try to get into her cage.”

 

Sansa wanted to tell him she wasn’t caged but she knew it to be a lie. It was simply a different type of cage.  _They protect me but they still want me to be something I am not._ These men would never understand that she was not the girl her father took to King’s Landing. She looked the same to them and she suspected they did not truly wish her to be different.  _Lies and Arbour Gold._  She did not want them to know the things she had done and the things she could do now. Sansa might have hoped not to have to use Petyr’s lessons again but it seemed inevitable. The men began to speak again when they were certain Clegane was gone.

 

By the time the sky darkened she knew much of what had passed. At Moat Cailin she heard some of it but the men spoke more freely away from the castle. They said little of Aegon, the prince who was now king. The things they would not speak of told her more than any of their careful answers. The crowning of her sister now made sense though Sansa wondered at some of her sister’s behaviour.

 

_She does not take joy in it._

 

Arya did not seem to take joy in anything. Sansa thought of her lessons once more and wondered what it was that Arya truly wanted.

 

She looked for her sister when Cara walked with her to the tent bearing the Stark banner. The camp had been established long before they arrived, the slowness of the wagon hindering them. Sansa longed for food and sleep. The tent did not contain Arya when she arrived. It did have a brazier though and a better bed than any Sansa slept in during her travel from the Vale.

 

“Where is my sister?”

 

The guard did not speak the common tongue and Ned gave a tired shake of his head. Cara paused in her hurried unpacking and fussing.

 

“The queen always speaks with the scouts and her advisors when the army camps princess. She will eat with them and return late.”

 

Sansa sighed and went straight to her bed. The fatigue and warmth stripped her appetite and she only wished to sleep. Cara kept moving, slight rustling sounds giving away that she was still at work while Sansa readied herself for bed. The maid joined her at the last moment, her fingers deft and gentle as she untangled Sansa’s hair from the wind. Sansa closed her eyes and thought of her mother for the first time in a while and tears stung unexpectedly.

 

“You have Arya’s confidence,” she said tightly. “Does my sister say anything of me at all?”

 

The maid’s hands stopped trembling for the first time since they had met.

 

“Family is everything to Queen Arya princess,” she said softly. “She fled Kings Landing in such haste when she received Ser Jaime’s letter.” The woman paused. “She said you look very like your lady mother.”

 

Sansa blinked quickly. “Thank you for telling me. I feared...” She trailed off. Her fears were not something to be speaking of and certainly not to a woman she knew very little about. Cara seemed to know what she meant to say despite her silence.

 

“The queen wished for you to be close. She gave me instructions. Your comfort is important princess.”

 

Sansa understood. Sleep crept up on her quickly. When she woke it was not yet morning but there was a disturbance in the tent. She did not need to look far to see Arya tossing and turning in her bed. Cara perched on the edge of it. Sansa hesitated a moment before pulling on her boots and moving to stand beside the bed.

 

“She always kicked in her sleep when we were girls.”

 

Cara did not smile. The noises Arya made sounded like growling. It subsided while Sansa watched and was replaced by something else, something worse. Sansa sat on the bed, took a deep breath and touched her sister. Arya jolted awake with a cry.

 

“It was only a dream,” Sansa said quickly.

 

Arya clutched at her, still wild eyed.

 

“It wasn’t. He’s still dead. I heard you scream. I was there and I heard you scream when they cut off his head.”

 

Sansa held her sister’s hands until Arya calmed.

 

“I wanted Joffrey dead. He should have died by father’s sword. Cersei has to die. She has to.”

 

Sansa remembered promises in the Vale and the news of the Targaryen hunt.

 

“She will. She has to.”

 

Arya squeezed Sansa’s hands and offered her a smile before gently pulling her hands free. “You need your sleep Sansa.” She touched Sansa’s cheek. “It will be a long march again. I won’t wake you anymore.”

 

Sansa stayed there a moment longer. She and her sister had so many differences but Arya’s stricken expression, even though it only lasted a heartbeat, showed her they were not so different after all. They both hurt the same. They had both suffered the same losses and they both wanted the same things.

 

Sansa pulled the furs back up over to cover her sister as she rose and returned to her bed.

 

**Bran**

Lord Brynden told him he spent too much time with his family. He told him that there was a greater good to consider. Bran knew about the greater good but Lord Brynden did not see as he did. Bran  _knew_  his family was a part of it, not just Jon but the rest of his family too.

 

“They are like me,” he insisted. “You have seen Arya.”

 

“I have seen,” the pale lord said in his soft voice. “It troubles me.”

 

Bran knew what he meant. Arya wasn’t meant to be in the raven. Lord Brynden did not like the effect it had on Bran.

 

“You care too much for Aegon.”

 

“He is important,” Bran protested. “You said those with your blood are.”

 

“That is not why you seek him,” Lord Brynden replied in his soft, too wise voice.

 

Bran did not answer him. He felt an uncontrollable urge to look and when he caught a glimpse of the Targaryen king he knew what he felt was not right. He told himself he cared because of the dragons and Daenerys. It did not explain his hurt at the man he did not know for leaving his sister to be with another. It did not explain his happiness when he saw the king unhurt and speaking with Ser Brynden Tully in a tent.

 

_He should never have left her. He should be in the North and helping us._

 

“Aegon is where he needs to be,” Lord Brynden said as though he knew Bran’s thoughts. “Your sister is where she must be. You were right to call her. Time is running short.”

 

Lord Brynden was dying and the magic protecting the cave was weakening. Bran saw it when he looked through the trees. The Others were trying to get to them. The children were making preparations to leave. It frightened him but Lord Brynden told him he must keep watching and he did feel compelled to.

 

“I don’t understand why Arya could not kill Ser Jaime,” he said, not for the first time.

 

“Your sister did not truly want to kill Jaime Lannister. He cannot die yet. He has another purpose.”

 

Bran fell silent again. He did not care about Jaime Lannister’s other purpose. Seeing him made Bran so angry. He remembered being pushed from the tower. Ser Jaime  _pushed_  him. Arya  _should_  be angry at him. He was the reason Bran was broken.

 

 _She does not know that_  the other voice in his head said.  _She just feels your anger the way you feel what she feels._  He knew Lord Brynden was right. Arya would not want to kill a man already in chains, not without establishing his guilt. She would pass the sentence the way their lord father taught them.

 

Lord Brynden told him many things but he still had secrets. He spoke often of sacrificing personal honour for the realm. He spoke of the need to consider many lives rather than just one. Bran’s need to watch his family earned him many of these lectures but he could not give up.

 

Sansa was afraid because she did not understand. He saw that when she came before the heart tree in the Vale.  _If she knew it was me she would not be afraid._  Rickon knew it. Rickon listened to him almost as much as Arya. Jon listened far less. Bran tried to reach him but although Jon was beginning to learn it was still happening too slowly.

 

Those of his blood were important just as those of Lord Brynden’s blood were. Jaime Lannister was not. Bran knew he had murdered. Arya and Sansa and Rickon might each only be one person to Lord Brynden but Bran knew that each of them could help many. He did not know it of Ser Jaime and the thought of him living angered Bran.

_I want him dead._

 

Lord Brynden was wise and he had a thousand eyes and a thousand skins but Bran was better. Bran saw more than the other greenseer. He could see more at once and despite what Lord Brynden initially told him he could speak to people through the weirwoods. Lord Brynden still sometimes spoke to him as though he were a boy.

 

_I am fourteen and as close to a man grown as can be and I want Jaime Lannister dead._

 

Lord Brynden looked to be with the trees but his lips moved again.

 

“You will regret your actions if you do what  _you_  wish. It will cause great sorrow.”

 

“Tell me why?” Bran pressed him.

 

If only Lord Brynden would explain more then Bran might see it his way. He did not get an answer.

 

“The trees have called him,” Leaf said, rather unhelpfully.

 

Bran knew that. He felt frustrated. The temptation was too much and he searched for the raven, feeling the cold hit him until he flew and found his sisters finally together. He wanted to join them so much it hurt but instead he watched them holding hands. Each still kept their secrets close but they needed each other and they needed him.

 

_I am considering many lives and not just one._

 

When he returned to the cave he thought to call for Hodor but the trees called to him instead. When he finished seeing the decision was made. Bran knew what he had to do.

 

**Arya**

__

They did not travel fast enough. Arya tried to push them to ride longer but the days were short and it was not safe to ride in the dark. They always stopped to camp sooner than she would like. Even with the long nights Arya seemed to have little time. Her men had so many questions, so much they needed from her. She was late returning to her tent every night.

 

_It will not be forever._

 

Arya did not want to keep wearing the crown. She did it because she had to but looking at it made her think of Aegon and that made her think of Daenerys. Sansa also wore a queer expression she could not hide whenever she saw Arya wearing it.

 

_I told her I did not wish for it._

 

They were not so distant now. Ever since Arya woke to find Sansa by her bed, ever since Arya saw her sister hurting as she hurt over father they had been just a little closer. Sansa stirred in her bed when Arya joined her in the tent. Arya tried not to wake her but she sensed that Cara played her part.

 

“You are so quiet Arya,” Sansa said softly on the second night after they left Moat Cailin. “You never used to be so quiet.”

 

“Neither did you,” Arya replied, knowing that the quiet she spoke of was not the same quiet Sansa spoke of. Arya did not wish to tell her sister of her training. She did not want her to know of the things she had done. Telling Sansa would be almost like telling their lady mother. Sansa looked like their mother and Arya could not bear to see disappointment on that face.

 

Sansa  _was_  quieter. Arya remembered the girl who could not keep a secret. That girl was now gone. Sansa spoke far less and when she did speak her words often seemed cautious and thought out.

 

“Will Ser Jaime be killed?” Sansa asked on the third night.

 

Arya hesitated. “He almost died at Moat Cailin,” she confessed. It took her a moment before she realised she was chewing her lip. Sansa’s lips curved into a half smile and then Arya realised and stopped. “I felt angry but it would have been wrong. Father did not kill prisoners in chains.”

 

“Father was a prisoner in chains,” Sansa blurted.

 

Arya eyed her warily.  _She does not truly want Ser Jaime dead but she does want justice._ Arya wanted to tell Sansa of what Varys told her, that Petyr Baelish spoke in Joffrey’s ear. Littlefinger had done something to Sansa though. Arya could see it every time anybody spoke of him to her. She insisted that Baelish kept her safe. Arya expected she even believed it, Sansa did not appear to be lying.

 

_I will tell her when we reach Winterfell._

 

“What will you do with Ser Jaime?” Sansa asked.

 

Arya studied her sister. She did not know how much to tell her and this was not the place.  _She won’t believe me._  Arya knew it would sound mad.

 

“The gods will decide.”

 

Sansa seemed afraid at that and she spoke no more that night. Arya wondered at her fear. The men were charmed by her sister. Sansa smiled often and dressed in the fine gowns and with her hair in the Northern style she looked just like the lady their mother hoped Arya to be. She was so very beautiful and graceful and even though the days must have been harder than she was accustomed to Sansa did not complain.

 

_Her smiles often do not reach her eyes._

 

That was the one thing they did have in common. Sansa never seemed truly happy. Arya wondered what her sister had done that she feared the gods. She remembered the things Sansa had done to anger her but did not think it to be that.

 

_There must be worse._

 

She could not imagine what it might be until she thought of Joffrey. They did not speak of it but Arya wanted to tell Sansa not to be sorry.

 

_I prayed for him to die._

 

The sadness in Sansa’s eyes disappeared briefly on the fourth night when Arya found her awake and waiting. The question on her lips was one Arya had been dreading. She knew the men spoke of Aegon but Sansa had refrained until now.

 

“Is he as comely as they say?”

 

“Yes,” Arya replied abruptly. She did not want to think about it. She did not want to picture him, not when he was with beautiful Daenerys.  _He used to say I was beautiful._  She expected he had forgotten all about that now.

 

Sansa did not seem as taken by the answer as Arya might have expected.  _She once thought Joffrey to be handsome._  Arya waited for the next question, knowing Sansa must have heard the rumours.

 

“What is he like?” Sansa asked.

 

Arya thought for a moment, trying to decide what she could tell her sister. “He can be stubborn and stupid but he is not bad. I see a lot of Jon in him. Sometimes he makes me think of father.” She realised a smile had crept to her lips without her permission and scowled in annoyance at her lapse. “ _You_  would think he was from one of your stupid songs.”

 

The sadness came back to Sansa’s eyes and she did not answer. Arya only just caught her sister’s whisper as Sansa turned away to sleep.

 

“Life is not a song.”

 

*

 

It seemed that every person in the castle had come out to greet them when they arrived at Torrhen’s Square. The men were happy even if they did grumble that they did not like a Lannister so near Winterfell. Ser Jaime had not been beaten again after Arya gave the order that he not be touched.

 

“You must be there,” she told her sister when they spoke once more of taking Ser Jaime before the tree.

 

Sansa had begun sitting with Arya now while she spoke with her advisors. Her sister wished to be privy to the decisions being made and Arya felt it to be her place. Some did not seem happy about it but the whispers of Sansa being a Lannister sympathiser were only heard in the camp and far from their tent.

 

Her sister was as good as Arya at speaking with the men at table though not on the same subjects. Sansa paled the first time the singing began and Arya almost stopped but it was something she enjoyed and the men liked when she joined in. They did not care that she did not sing well. The words were all that mattered.

 

“They like you,” Sansa whispered. “They like you the way they did with father.”

 

Arya was not so certain. She knew most of them smiled at her and they did what she told them to do. Some  _still_  challenged her for her hand but some whispered that she should not be queen. Arya did not disagree but not for the same reasons. Thoros gave her counsel.

 

“They will not trouble you if you only ask of them what they are sworn to give.”

 

That annoyed Arya.

 

“That is what I am doing. I ask them to do what is right.”

 

Thoros shook his head.

 

“Every man has a different notion of what is right.”

 

Sandor Clegane’s advice was even less helpful.

 

“Round up those who whisper and hang them if it troubles you. The others will hold their tongues.”

 

Arya managed to hide her look of disgust but she did not hold her tongue.

 

“I am not going to do that.”

 

He laughed at her. She wanted to tell him she should hang  _him_. Reports got back to her of him speaking to Sansa during their travels. He watched her sister. Arya told him to stay away and he still watched.

 

_Sansa does not seem troubled by it._

 

Her sister might not be troubled by Sandor Clegane but Sansa did shrink back at the suggestion of attending the heart tree to witness Ser Jaime being taken before it.

 

“You have to be there Sansa,” she insisted.

 

Nymeria had returned just before they arrived at the castle and the direwolf seemed to know what was to happen. She howled and Arya felt everything become more vivid around her. Her wolf dreams were something she chose to keep the other dreams away. Nymeria was strong again and with some of her pack following she was hungry.

 

 _Not now_ , Arya tried to tell the wolf.  _Not yet._

 

Aegon’s men stayed behind though Haldon seemed as though he wished to attend. Arya stopped him with her hand on his arm.

 

“Another time.”

 

He did not look pleased and Arya knew he would remain unhappy. The halfmaester did not like lacking knowledge and he particularly did not like Ser Jaime continuing to draw breath. Arya pressed on anyway. This was something for those of the North. She gave the order and the Greatjon barked at Ser Jaime. Jaime Lannister still looked as though he had a retort on his lips.

 

“’It is time,” Arya said firmly.

 

Only a small group of men gathered before the tree. The lords were in attendance, Arya’s advisors. Jaime Lannister’s chains had been removed. Arya moved forward first, putting her hand on the carved face. The flapping of wings told her the raven was near and Arya saw it land on a branch. She looked into its beady eyes.

 

“We are here as you asked.”

 

Arya heard the whispers behind her. She knew they thought her to be mad and she did not care. The bird screamed and took to the air and Arya backed away from the tree.

 

“He should kneel,” Lord Robett said in an unusually cold voice.

 

The Greatjon put a foot in the back of Jaime Lannister’s knee and Ser Jaime dropped awkwardly.

 

“You might have asked.”

 

Nymeria growled and Arya saw Sansa trembling, her gaze fixed on the face of the tree.

 

“I’m going mad,” she whispered. She began to back away.

 

Arya moved to Sansa’s side to stop her retreat and took her hand. “No, you are not. I see it too.”

 

A true face had formed in the tree where the carvings were, Bran’s face. Arya heard the Northmen cursing. Ser Jaime had paled. The breeze began to sound like whispers and the mouth in the tree began to move.

 

“Jaime Lannister,”’ the voice whispered. “I have seen what you have done.”

 

 


	98. Chapter 98: Jaime | Arya | Sansa

**Chapter 98: Jaime | Arya | Sansa**

 

**Jaime**

 

Jaime Lannister had learned the words of the prayers but no man would ever have called him devout. He prayed to the Warrior when the occasion called for it but even then he did not do so fervently. The Seven featured little in his thoughts. He had not truly given thought to the old gods at all, not until now.

 

 _It must be sorcery_.

 

He remembered Arya Stark as she had been at Moat Cailin. The direwolf at her side and the raven perched on her arm could not be natural, not with the way they followed her. He stole a glance at her as the Northmen fell to their knees. She had her head close to her sister’s and Lady Sansa seemed horrified. Her face was stricken even if she remained no less composed than the men who were pale and muttering prayers.

 

_They do not know._

 

Lady Arya seemed the only one not stunned by the tree but it appeared that she was too occupied to be conjuring it. He looked back to the tree and his heart pounded so much that he thought he could hear it. The face almost seemed familiar. The wind whispered his name still and the carved features on the tree appeared very like blood and very angry.

 

“Jaime Lannister,” the voice whispered again.

 

Jaime swallowed and blinked and refused to be afraid.

 

“If you are going to have me killed will you bloody well do it already? This is growing tiresome.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lady Sansa shake her sister off. His good sister knelt in the snow and Jaime fancied he could see her lips moving even though she was silent. Arya Stark turned to the tree and her mouth twisted.

 

“He murders people. He  _hurts_  people. People die everywhere he goes.”

 

“I might say the same for you now my lady,” Jaime replied.

 

Arya Stark paled. Her expression did not change but the blood drained from her face. Jaime eyed the tree and tried to listen to the eerie whispering. He heard the crunch of the snow but did not know of the blade until he heard the whisper.

 

“Stop Arya,” it said.

 

Jaime did not know how she was almost on him already. The blade glinted in her hand. The Greatjon lifted his head.

 

“We must listen to the gods when they speak.”

 

Jaime looked up at her. There were tears in her eyes and the blade was gone. It appeared and disappeared so quickly he might have thought he imagined it. Nobody else seemed to see it. She dropped to her knees beside him and gazed at the tree.

 

“You have seen,” she said flatly. “You have seen what he has done. Father and Mother and Robb are dead. He is one of them. He killed Jory and he killed Robb’s men and he still wanted to hurt our family even after. Uncle Brynden told me.”

 

Jaime did not bother to deny it. They would not hear him here. Arya Stark had her father’s long face and she looked at him very much as Ned Stark had looked at him when he found Jaime sitting on the Iron Throne with the king lying dead.

 

“He has hurt many,” the tree agreed, the red of its eyes almost looking like tears.

 

Jaime did not have to look at the faces of the others to know they were plotting his death. He cared little for the men Arya Stark named. He felt nothing about their deaths. These northerners could not make him feel guilty, not about that. The memory of Bran Stark came back to him.

 

_The things I do for love._

 

He wanted to die as a warrior. He wanted his chance at honour. Mad laughter tried to bubble up in his throat at the thought. He heard the men muttering.

 

“The First Men offered sacrifices to the trees.”

 

Jaime thought about making a grab for Arya’s blade. He would have if he knew where she kept it. He was meant to return to Cersei, he meant to return to their children. Myrcella needed him. He had been a fool to think anything he did would make a difference to these people.

 

He looked at Sansa Stark. She looked back at him. Of everybody there she was the only one who seemed torn. When she looked away he knew she would not speak for him.

 

 _I rescued you,_  he thought bitterly.

 

He could almost hear her accusing answer about the war in the Vale, the war which Jaime knew was inevitable.

 

“He cannot die yet,” the tree whispered.

 

Even at a whisper the voice sounded bitter to Jaime’s ears. He did not understand it and while the men did not protest he saw Arya Stark stiffen. Her direwolf joined her, snarling its disapproval.

 

“Why not?” Arya asked in a flat voice.

 

“There is something he must answer to. He must tell of what happened with King Aerys. He must go South to Daenerys.”

 

Jaime did not manage to stifle his laugh this time. The bitterness was almost enough to choke him.

 

_It always comes back to Aerys._

**Arya**

 

Arya didn’t understand why Bran was letting Ser Jaime go. She wanted to speak openly with him but she couldn’t. The men were unhappy too but they thought it to be the gods and did not question it. She heard mutterings that mayhaps he might have an accident before he reached Daenerys.

 

“Daenerys will kill him,” she whispered.

 

Jaime Lannister had killed Daenerys’ father. She would want him dead. Aegon wanted Ser Jaime dead so Daenerys would certainly want the same. Arya consoled herself with that. It had been on the tip of her tongue to argue with Bran, to betray to the men who he was but she couldn’t. It was a secret and not hers to tell. It was enough that she must find a way to tell Sansa.

 

_She will listen to me now. I will take her to the tree and Bran will explain._

 

Arya took a breath and played her part. She had been stupid before the tree. She had let her anger and grief blind her and had forgotten her training.  _Calm as still water._  She gave the orders to have Jaime Lannister escorted south and ignored everything he said. Sansa watched on, pale and still trembling.

 

“He wishes to goad you into having him killed,” she whispered when Arya joined her.

 

Arya nodded. “Daenerys will kill him. That is what I would do.”

 

Ser Jaime smiled, showing his broken tooth.

 

“You say that but I seem to still be living my lady.”

 

Arya did not scowl at him and it seemed to unsettle him a little.

 

“Must we truly let him go?” Sansa asked.

 

Arya shot a glance at those close enough to hear and when she looked back at Sansa her sister had her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes lowered. She looked ill.

 

“I shall meet you inside Arya.”

 

Sansa turned away and Ned Dayne became her shadow, taking her arm and escorting her into the castle.

 

_I do not want to let him go._

 

She repeated the order anyway, knowing that Bran must have reasons and Bran was the true ruler of the North, not her. She called Nymeria and made her way to the castle, desperate to rid herself of her crown even if only for a few hours.

 

 _Ser Jaime was wrong about me,_  she thought, struggling with the sadness and the doubt which gnawed at her.  _I don’t bring death. The war was started by others. I play the part they made me play when they killed my father. I did what I had to do, what they made me do._

 

The wolf did not stay with her long. Instead Arya was surrounded by her bannermen. They appeared grim and determined. News of what had happened at the tree was travelling fast and Arya knew that men were flocking to it to pray, hoping to hear their own message from the old gods.

 

“How long have they been speaking to you your grace?” Lord Robett asked.

 

Arya resisted the urge to chew her lip. “Long enough, my lord. We are meant to go North.”

 

That was met with quiet. They had fewer questions for her than usual, instead coming and going and looking for answers elsewhere. Haldon found her on her way to the chambers her hosts offered.

 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

 

He was too clever. He always had been. Her men might think Bran to be a god but Haldon  _would_  question it.

 

“I received orders,” she told him.

 

He gave her a thin smile.

 

“I did not think of you as one to take orders.”

 

Arya paused at the door and did not reply. She heard the sound of somebody listening, a quiet footstep but not quiet enough for her to miss it.

 

“That depends on who is giving the orders.”

 

She pushed the door open and invited him to follow. Haldon opened his mouth and Arya shook her head. Inside the chambers and with the door closed she relaxed a little. Cara waited in a seat by the bed but that did not matter. Haldon eyed the maid.

 

“I need you to see Sansa,” Arya told him. “She is pretending that nothing is wrong but it isn’t true.”

 

“Are you going to tell me what really happened?” he asked her with narrowed eyes.

 

“I already did,” she replied.

 

For a moment she thought he might question her again. He hesitated. Haldon was one who knew some of her secrets. He was a friend but she did not want to tell him this, not yet.

 

“I expect Lady Sansa will need dreamwine,” he finally said. “Many are shaken and she will not be the only one.”

 

Arya nodded.

 

“Tell her I will see her on the morrow.”

 

He left her and she endured Cara’s fussing. The maid did not ask her anything and Arya was grateful for it. They brushed each other’s hair and Arya took wine in her chambers. She did not want to sleep yet. She did not want to dream yet.

 

“I am almost home,” she whispered.

 

Cara looked anxious. “Are there many people in Winterfell, your grace?”

 

“Not as many as there were,” Arya replied. “The castle needs to be rebuilt. Some parts have been fixed but it isn’t the same.”

 

Cara’s agitation did not settle. “There must be many serving.”

 

Arya took hold of her Cara’s hands, knowing what troubled her.

 

“I will always have a place for you,” she promised. “You are my friend.”

 

Cara’s lower lip trembled as though she might cry.

 

“I won’t tell anybody.”

 

Arya did not have to ask what she meant. Cara had seen more than most. She had lived with Arya and seen her dreaming. She saw Arya with Nymeria and the raven, she tended to Arya’s clothes and no doubt had seen letters and weapons. The maid was cleverer than people gave her credit for. Arya smoothed her friend’s hair and wished her own was as pretty.

 

“I know you won’t.”

 

Cara sniffled. “Do you wish for me to tend to Princess Sansa?”

 

Arya shook her head.

 

“I want you here,” she admitted, hating herself for her weakness.

 

“Shall I fetch Haldon back, your grace,” Cara said quickly. “Mayhaps dreamwine might help.”

 

“It won’t,” Arya said flatly.

 

She finally climbed into her bed, wanting the wolf dreams that weren’t really dreams. Arya had chosen them when travelling but it wasn’t the same under the roof of a castle. She supposed it might help her to know what was happening but it would not fill her night and when the wolf dreams ended the others began.

 

_It is because of Sansa._

Ever since she saw her sister again the dreams had been worse. She dreamed of her father losing her head. In the dreams she shouted at the men on the steps of the Sept. She shouted to them “don’t hurt him”. In the dreams he looked at her and Arya wanted to save him but she was only a little girl, only a stupid little girl and she screamed and Sansa screamed and it changed nothing because he still died.

 

If she did not dream of her father she dreamed of her mother. She did not know which of those were worse, the ones where she could not save her mother or the ones where she had to kill her. Her mother wept tears of blood but Arya still wielded her blade and then there was blood on her hands which had not been there when she truly killed the thing which had been her mother.

 

On this night she dreamed of Jon instead. It was no better than the other dreams. Arya was trying to get to him but every time she tried he seemed to be farther away. Rickon was crying and then Aegon was there but he only smiled sadly.

 

“I have to go Arya.”

 

She tried to hold onto him, to make him stay but he still left her and then she was all alone. She woke up gasping and Cara was there.

 

“It is just a dream,” her friend whispered.

 

“No,” Arya said unable to hide her misery. “It isn’t.”

 

 _It won’t be long now_ , she told herself determinedly. They were only days from Winterfell and then she would be with Rickon again. It would not be long and she would see Jon and nothing would stop her this time. She lay awake thinking of what she must do and of Sansa.

 

_Bran will know._

 

**Sansa**

The dreamwine helped her to sleep but Sansa still dreamed. She dreamed of little Lord Robert and she dreamed of Tyrion and the Hound. Petyr was there too and in one moment it was the Hound and his kiss and then it was Petyr. Petyr wanted more than a kiss and she struggled against him while he breathed into her ear “Cat.”

 

She woke and as she roused from her heavy sleep she remembered the godswood and gooseprickles rose on her skin. She felt ill all over again.

 

_The gods know what I did._

 

Petyr had always stressed the importance of clean hands but Sansa’s were not clean, even if nobody in the Vale knew what she had done. For a time she had imagined it was not her, that Alayne did it but being in front of the tree and hearing that voice again reminded her of when she was in the godswood at the Gates of the Moon.

 

She woke to Ned Dayne’s concerned face.

 

“Shall I fetch the maester my lady?”

 

Sansa flushed to realise he was in her chambers. She pulled the heavy blankets to her chin and he stepped back two paces.

 

“You sounded distressed,” he explained. “I thought somebody had intruded upon you.”

 

“It was the dreamwine, my lord,” Sansa said, clinging to the blankets as Ned averted his eyes and a flush rose to his own cheeks. “It makes me see terrible things.”

 

“I thought-” Ned faltered. “Sandor Clegane is near too often.”

 

Sansa knew what he thought. She knew what they all thought. They did not understand her tolerating his presence. They did not know of what passed in Kings Landing. Sansa tried to explain it to Arya once but Arya still did not want him near.

 

“He wants you,” Arya had said bluntly.

 

Sansa almost laughed. It was a bitter feeling.  _Every man wants something._  Petyr taught her that. Sandor Clegane looked at her the way many men looked at her but there was more than that to him finding his way near her.

 

_He said he could keep me safe._

 

“Sandor Clegane will not hurt me my lord,” she told Ned.

 

Sansa had feared him once. She did not fear him now. Ned was not wrong about Sandor being close. Part of her would not be surprised to find him in her chambers, asking her about Tyrion again or asking her about Petyr. She could see he wanted to.

 

“Forgive me for disturbing you my lady,” Ned said politely before turning on his heel and quickly exiting her chambers.

 

Sansa almost called after him. She missed the way he had been towards her on the kingsroad. He was so formal now. Her guilt returned to distract her.

 

_It was not me, not truly. I did what Alayne had to do, what I was told I had to do._

 

That gave her little comfort. That conjured more memories, more things she did not wish to think of. Her brother and sister were unharmed. Arya had people around her, people who were  _hers_. Sansa found herself studying them, wondering if any were not what they seemed. Petyr did not have her and he had no need to hurt Arya. He shouldn’t, not now that Sansa was not his daughter. She pushed her doubts aside.

 

_I just need to return to Winterfell._

She rose and dressed. It was good to be in a proper castle. Part of her wanted to linger there before she remembered the tree and Ser Jaime. When she remembered that she wanted to flee. The entrance of the maid offered an opportunity to ask questions.

 

“Do we still leave on the morrow?” she asked.

 

Cara nodded. “The queen wishes to see you princess.”

 

A feeling of dread crept over her. She knew why Arya wished to speak to her. Her sister had taken her arm and almost shook her in the godswood. She hissed at Sansa.

 

“You must not be afraid. It is not for us to be afraid. We are a pack.”

 

It didn’t make sense and Sansa knew Arya wanted to take her back there. She wouldn’t go, she couldn’t. Arya wouldn’t understand. The gods would not curse Arya for her sins.

 

“I am unwell,” she lied. “Tell Arya I must remain in the castle until we leave.”

 

Cara looked concerned. “Shall I fetch the maester?”

 

Sansa shook her head.

 

“If I just rest it will pass.”

 

It seemed she had little to fear. Arya came to her chambers not long afterwards looking tired.

 

“I wanted you to come to the godswood with me.” A slight frown appeared. “It wouldn’t work anyway. We need to go alone and the men are keeping a vigil here.” She gave Sansa a wary look. “Are you really sick?”

 

Sansa hesitated a moment.

 

“I did not rest well.” That was the truth. “How can you not be frightened at all?”

 

Arya smiled just briefly.

 

“You will not be afraid once you understand.”

 

Sansa seriously doubted that.

 

*

 

She wanted to weep as the gates of Winterfell came into view. Petyr had promised to bring her home but he hadn’t. She often doubted he ever intended to. Ser Jaime had started a war to take her from the Eyrie. The thought of him made her angry. He had lied about so many things. He was no better than Cersei, he only tricked her into thinking that he was.

 

_Daenerys should feed him to her dragons._

 

There were moments where she doubted though, moments where she remembered the way he spoke when he did not jape. In those moments she did not want him to die and then she remembered what Arya said he had tried to do to their kin and she was angry all over again.

 

A howl pierced the air and Sansa looked to see a black direwolf. Her horse almost spooked but Nymeria joined the other wolf and the two of them raced ahead. She had chosen to be ahorse for the last leg, not wanting to be amongst the last to arrive at the castle.

 

“The gates look different,” she offered limply.

 

Arya turned her head. “They were rebuilt.”

 

The horn blew and they stopped and Sansa heart fluttered wildly. They were not the first to arrive but they might have been for the welcome they received. Ned helped her from her horse and the people in the yard knelt as they entered, all but the red haired boy who looked at them warily.

 

“Rickon?” Sansa asked hesitantly.

 

“He is wroth at us leaving,” Arya muttered.

 

“I am not,” the boy retorted hotly. “You made me a promise.”

 

“I kept that promise,” Arya replied. “Did you keep yours?”

 

The boy nodded and Sansa heard Arya mutter ”liar” but she stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug nonetheless. He frowned and looked like he might not reciprocate. When he did Arya pressed a kiss to his face while he squirmed and protested. It made Sansa feel terribly excluded until Arya released him and he turned his attention to her.

 

“Your hair is like mine,” he said solemnly. “I knew you were coming sister.”

 

Sansa’s vision blurred. The big woman beside him with the ruined face was staring but Sansa paid her little mind. She bent before Rickon. He did not embrace her but he took her hand.

 

_He is so big now, he is almost like Bran before he fell._

 

The memory made her throat tighten even more.

 

“You have to come with me,” Rickon prompted.

 

The gathering in the yard had grown bigger and bigger and Sansa saw many men, all speaking in the same tongue as the Skaagosi who rode with Arya. Nobody tried to deter them as Rickon led her away. Arya offered the people quick greetings but she soon followed. Sansa heard her footsteps behind them.

 

As the air around them grew warmer Sansa knew where they were going. She wanted to stop but Rickon had her hand and Arya pressed close behind and one look at her sister’s face told her there would be a quarrel if she tried.

 

 _I must not be afraid_ , she told herself.  _If they do not fear this then I must not either._

 

The heart tree loomed in front of them and Sansa knelt before it. Arya quickly joined her and Sansa saw the direwolves circling. Rickon stepped towards the carved face and spoke to it.

 

“You better be there,” he said in a childish voice. “We won’t get long.”

 

The whispers began and Sansa closed her eyes. It was her name she heard this time, “Sansa” floating on the breeze and she almost held her breath waiting for an accusation. It did not come. When she opened her eyes the face did not seem so angry as at Torrhen’s Square. It still seemed almost familiar though and Sansa did not understand why.

 

“What do you want,” she blurted, trying desperately to be brave.

 

“Sansa,” the voice whispered. “Sister.”

 

 


	99. Chapter 99: Asha & Daenerys

**Chapter 99: Asha & Daenerys**

**Asha**

Asha supped with the king and his advisors. She caught Aegon looking at her more than once. He seemed in higher spirits after seeing the dragons though not as high spirits as Asha might have expected him to be. His brow furrowed when he caught her eye again.

 

_He lacks patience. One day it is likely to get him killed._

 

She knew she might distract him and even make him laugh if she were inclined to produce her axes. She chose not to. His laughter served her well, it had won her his ear and a place in his council but she knew she must seek Victarion and not just because a king wished it.

 

_I must know what he intends. I must know what the Crow’s Eye has planned._

 

Aegon rose when she did. He smiled but not confidently.

 

“I fear your uncle wishes to quarrel with me,” he told her.

 

Asha laughed.

 

“Leave my uncle to me.”

 

He walked with her, a frown marring his features. It did not stop his gaze dropping to her rear as she walked. He did not redden when she showed she had caught him looking. Asha grinned, wondering if he wanted her. Daenerys did not seem interested if the talk was to be believed. He was comelier than any man she had seen. She might have been interested in fucking him just the once out of curiosity.

 

_If I did not know he imagined the girl I might._

 

“I hear you are a widow my lady. May I offer my condolences?”

 

“You may,” she said with another laugh, “but they are not needed. The Crow’s Eye will be more disappointed than I am.”

 

She doubted Euron even cared. Asha had mourned her dead husband by fucking Qarl. The memory did nothing to stop her smiling, even if it did cause Aegon to look a little taken aback.

 

“You did not wish the marriage.”

 

Asha snorted.

 

“I was not present for it.” She eyed him again. “You do not truly care about my grief or lack of it. What is it your grace?”

 

Aegon’s mouth twisted a little.

 

“I know you want Sea Dragon Point my lady. I know you have spoken with my aunt.”

 

Asha knew she must tread carefully. Aegon could be influenced but he was not a fool. If he thought she had betrayed his trust it would not go well for her.

 

“We had tea,” Asha told him. “Daenerys asked me about my uncles. She wished to know why Euron sits the Seastone Chair instead of my father’s heir. She asked my feelings on the succession.”

 

Aegon’s eyes narrowed and he stopped walking. Asha halted beside him. His kingsguard knights were eyeing her warily.

 

“Do I have cause to question your allegiance?”

 

Asha wanted to scoff, to jape as she would with other men. Aegon looked like a boy who was frightened his friend had found somebody they liked better. _Part of him fears and envies Daenerys even as he still claims kingship._ She thought of Theon back in Winterfell, a prisoner still and alive only to ensure loyalty. She thought of her mother back at Ten Towers. Her mother needed to see Theon again if she still lived. Asha needed to earn his freedom.

 

“We have an agreement,” she reminded him.

 

Aegon still studied her face as though searching for falsehood but finally he nodded, glanced around them and began to move again. He seemed to relax a little though tension remained. He gave her a smile, one Asha expected had melted the hearts of many maidens.

 

“I find it hard to imagine you sipping tea my lady.”

 

Asha grinned back at him, taking long strides to keep pace.

 

“Ale is more to my taste. It is best not to refuse a princess.”

 

His eyes brightened at that, just as Asha knew they would. _He chafes at those who have called her queen_. It was easy for her to appeal to his pride. It had been much harder with Daenerys. The Mother of Dragons fascinated Asha and she could not deny that a woman with such power gave her ideas. She had seen her like with Arya Stark and the notion of their similarities brought another laugh to her lips.

 

_The king should not be finding the courtship so difficult._

 

“You might fare better if you appeared to want to share her bed half as badly as you wish to share her dragons.”

 

This time Aegon did flush.

 

“I did not ask for your counsel my lady.”

 

He was offended. Asha sighed. _Men can be such fools when they do not want hard truths._ She might like him better than Stannis but she was still a kraken and bending her knees did not please her even if she had made some gains. He might not like what she had to say but Asha knew her history and she knew the match must happen.

 

“That does not mean you do not need my counsel,” she replied.

 

He clenched his jaw, for a moment bearing the slightest resemblance to Stannis as he glowered. It did not last and soon gave way to a resigned expression.

 

“I wish to see you again after you speak with Victarion.”

 

Asha inclined her head.

 

“As you wish your grace.”

 

She parted from Aegon, hoping that her message had reached enough ears to draw her uncle out of his reported sulking.

 

*

 

Asha was seated with Tyrion Lannister when she finally received word Victarion Greyjoy was within the castle. Her uncle was meeting with Daenerys.

 

“I am afraid he will have poor luck,” Tyrion said with exaggerated sadness. “If the Khaleesi is not swayed by Aegon’s considerable charms then she is not likely to fall at your uncle’s feet. How many times is it now Mormont?”

 

The big knight looked at Asha as though she were dirt off his boot.

 

“I believe I have lost count.”

 

Ser Jorah did not want her there. He did not make a secret of it. He did not want any Greyjoys allied with his Khaleesi. Crueller whispers told he wanted no man near her at all.

 

“My uncle Euron is the one you must concern yourself with,” she told them, wondering what game Victarion was playing at.

 

She diced and japed with Tyrion while she waited, deciding he was not all bad for a Westerman. He seemed to have decided the same of her if his amusement was anything to judge by. The sound of a harsh voice told her not all shared her view.

 

“I suppose I might have warned you,” Tyrion told her with a hand around his mouth which did nothing to stop his voice carrying. “Your uncle does not like me much.” He grinned. “I cannot think why.”

 

His laughter tinged with mockery told Asha why and she jumped to her feet. The hall had fallen silent apart from Tyrion’s continued banter. It was on the tip of Asha’s tongue to greet her uncle with a jest but his appearance stopped her. The look in his eyes reminded her uncomfortably of Euron and the length of his arm was burnt.

 

“Nuncle,” she called.

 

Victarion glared at the dwarf still seated on the benches but as she approached he tore his gaze away to look at her. He smiled and that at least was familiar.

 

“Asha,” he said in a voice which was half a command. “Niece.”

 

“I hoped you might seek me sooner,” she scolded him when she drew close. “We have much to speak of.”

 

“I received your messages,” he grunted.

 

Asha looked at the man beside him in scarlet robes. She had her own shadows, the eunuch Grey Worm seemed intent on accompanying them and Lysono Maar kept an even closer eye. Victarion was not pleased with the Lyseni, Asha saw that at once.

 

“This creature will not be welcome,” he said harshly.

 

“I might say the same of the priest,” Asha replied, remembering the march from Deepwood Motte to Winterfell. Thoros had posed little harm but Thoros was Thoros and Asha sensed this priest might be cut from a cloth far closer matched to Melisandre. “I have my own men.”

 

She gave a whistle and two of them joined her. Qarl gave Victarion a grin but her uncle did not return it. .He also did not send the priest away.

 

“Moqorro has served me well,” he told her in a voice which offered no compromise.

 

Asha shrugged and accompanied him through the passages to an empty chamber. When they passed through the doorway Asha dismissed Grey Worm.

 

“We will cause very little mischief closed inside these chambers. It will go easier if I talk sense into my uncle in private.”

 

The eunuch nodded obediently and took a step back but his eyes glittered strangely. Asha sensed he was displeased but it was not that which made her shiver. She felt glad when the door closed and it separated them.

 

“Theon lives,” she began. “Euron cannot sit the Seastone Chair.”

 

Victarion shook his head.

 

“The Crow’s Eye has given the Ironborn conquest. The Kingsmoot—”

 

“It can be overruled,” Arya said quickly. “It has happened before.” She meant to continue but she realised he was not listening and tried a different tactic. “There are ships headed to Oldtown. They will burn the city rather than let Euron keep it.”

 

Victarion did not look at all bothered at the news.

 

“The dragon queen will not like that. Euron might show himself and make this easier. He failed to take Highgarden. He will not want to lose his other spoils.”

 

Asha shook her head.

 

“None of this will be easy uncle.”

 

“You doubt me,” Victarion looked displeased. “I have sailed past Valyria and returned with dragons.”

 

“As the Crow’s Eye commanded,” Asha pointed out. “You always obey nuncle.”

 

“He also commanded I deliver Daenerys to him,” Victarion said gruffly. “I have not and I will not.”

 

Asha laughed. “You make it sound as though she might give you a choice in the matter. I cannot see her embracing the Old Way.” She had damaged his pride, she saw that at once. “Turn away from this path my father set us on,” she urged more gently.

 

“The dragons,” Victarion muttered. “The dragons will end Euron and they will give me the Seastone Chair. Moqorro has seen it.”

 

Asha shifted uncomfortably in her chair and glanced at the red priest.

 

“No godless man can sit the Seastone Chair,” she reminded him. “Aeron will not be pleased.”

 

Victarion laughed.

 

“I have the Red God and the Drowned God. No man may call Victarion Greyjoy godless.”

 

The red priest smiled broadly.

 

“R’hllor has a need of Lord Victarion.”

 

Asha bit back her retort and studied Victarion again. The burning of his arm did not appear natural and he seemed no less strong for it. Asha did not trust the priest and she remembered Euron and his pets. The Crow’s Eye had been called mad before and Asha feared that Victarion had gone mad somewhere past Valyria.

 

“The dragons will help remove the Crow’s Eye,” she said. “Let us make peace with them. Let them see us as allies and we might gain an advantage while the Northmen do not comply. We will not survive the war if you follow this path.”

 

Victarion did not heed her. He made a fist with his burned hand.

 

“This Aegon, this pretender will die. He will wrong the dragon queen. I am certain of it. He is an enemy, a soft boy who has no place here.”

 

The fury in his voice gave Asha pause.

 

“Aegon is Daenerys’ kin. They grow closer and he is not unbearable company. The dragons may not see him in the same light you do from what I hear.”

 

Victarion’s mouth twisted and Asha saw she had found the source of his anger.

 

“I will claim Daenerys and her dragons. I will restore the Old Way. You will see.”

 

Asha saw the look on Qarl’s face. She expected it matched her own skepticism.

“How exactly do you think you will do that?”

Moqorro laughed a booming laugh.

 

“There is more to be known of dragons if you only take the time to see.”

 

Victarion did not supply any further answers. Asha tried one last time.

 

“We are krakens, do you remember what my father said? Those who bend the knee survive to rise with blade in hand. We do not rise against dragons uncle, that will be certain death and not a good death.”

 

Her uncle was unmoved.

 

“The gods are with me niece,” he said sternly. “You do not have faith. With time you will see this is best. Either stand with me or stand aside. If you do not join me you would be wise to leave until I take my seat.”

                                                                                        

Asha knew all hope of reaching the uncle she once knew was lost.

 

_He has gone mad._

**Daenerys**

 

Tyrion was looking at her in that way he had again, his head was tilted and his mismatched eyes were fixed on her in a way she knew was intended to be unsettling. It no longer unsettled her. She adjusted the horn beside her when it began to slip.

 

“You have something you wish to say,” she prompted.

 

Tyrion sighed rather wearily.

 

“You do not need that,” he said, pointing at the dragon horn. “Why do you insist on using it?”

 

It was not the first time they had spoken of it. She could see he was frustrated. They were relatively alone in the solar, only Ser Barristan and Grey Worm were present.

 

“You think I ignore your counsel,” she said gently.

 

“It bloody well looks like it,” he said resentfully with another hard look at the horn.

 

Dany had turned it all over in her head again and again. She was so tired of questioning who might betray her, so tired of being lonely. Quaithe spoke of not trusting, of a lion and griffin and the sun’s son. She spoke of Aegon too. The griffin was Lord Connington and he had died without harming her. Quentyn had only wished to wed her until her disappearance and he died without causing harm. Aegon was her blood, her family, the only one left. The lion was in front of her now and while she knew she would be a fool to let him too close she was tired of trying to decide if he was an enemy.

 

_Mistrust breeds mistrust and I am only making certain enemies with this course._

 

“I can assure you that I listen. I have my reasons for keeping the horn and for using it.”

 

Tyrion laughed almost instantly.

 

“You don’t want another to use it,” he said with a wry smile. “You do not want them to know your bond is through blood.”

 

Dany ran her fingers over the valyrian glyphs. She remembered what Benerro showed her in the flames.

 

“I cannot allow another to use the horn.”

 

“Another might not need it,” Tyrion pointed out.

 

Dany frowned. She and Aegon shared blood. Blood had not helped Prince Quentyn though and Dany did not feel certain if it might help Aegon. Aegon had been afraid, she had seen it. If he had not covered it well then things might have turned far worse with Viserion. She remembered Brown Ben Plumm and how fond the dragons were of him. She remembered her own fondness for the sellsword, a fondness tainted by the knowledge of him betraying her.

 

_It was not just his blood, they knew him._

_That_ was why Viserion let the sellsword climb on his back in her absence. That was why even more lives were lost including that of Brown Ben himself. Dany remembered the vision Benerro showed her. Dany knew all too well how dangerous her children were.

 

“Viserion might have harmed Aegon. There might have been war. This is why I delayed.”

 

Tyrion’s expression showed he thought her to be a liar.

 

“A lot of things _might_ happen your grace,” he said dryly. “Some are rather more certain than others. Consider our ironborn friends for example. I am _certain_ you will not wed my dear friend Victarion.”

 

Dany tried to hide her frown.

 

“He offered to conquer the North for me. He did so once before.”

 

Tyrion looked very knowing.

 

“He did so when Winterfell was weakened.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I’m sure his terms were very reasonable.”

 

His tone was full of mockery. Dany knew he mocked the captain and not her. She still did not like it. Victarion might be a brute, he might lack courtesy but he joined her cause before any other. He disobeyed his older brother, he disobeyed a usurper to remain by her side. He had wronged her with his misguided notions about Aegon. If Aegon were to be an enemy Dany could decide that herself but Victarion had also served her.

 

_He tried to save my people. He brought us home._

 

It still did not feel like a home. Dany wondered whether Kings Landing might feel any different.

 

“Victarion wants me and he wants a dragon,” Dany conceded. She thought of Aegon. “He is not alone in that.”

 

“Give him dragons then,” Tyrion replied swiftly. “Give him the golden kind and send him away.”

 

Dany eyed him warily. Her Bear had offered similar counsel but Dany refused it. Aegon insisted the North would not oppose them. He would be unhappy if he knew of Victarion’s offer. Dany could not accept it but neither could she do as Tyrion suggested.

 

“Where will I find this gold?” she asked. “Will Casterly Rock provide it?” She saw the glint in Tyrion’s eye and shook her head. “Victarion does not want gold. You know the ways of the ironborn as well as I. I might let him try with my dragons. That will put an end to this.”

 

Tyrion laughed at that.

 

“It saddens me that you say that only in jest after all the times he has wished the same fate upon me.”

 

Dany merely smiled. She did not intend to owe Tyrion or Victarion any greater debt even if she did not wish to view them as enemies. She allowed them to stay and advise her, keeping them apart given their hatred of one another. Each wanted the other gone and each wished death upon their kin. Tyrion seemed more trustworthy, he was certainly more likeable but Victarion had his uses and he was not entirely wrong in warning her about Aegon.

 

“I can assure you I will not treat him gently if he gives me reason,” she told Tyrion.

 

The dwarf cocked his head and his smile seemed more a grimace.

 

“I will remember you said that.”

 

Tyrion took his leave and Missandei returned. The scribe brought her lemon water, dried fruit and a smile which did not hide plots and lies and demands. Dany suddenly felt almost as though she wished to cry.

 

“Will you stay with me a while Missandei?”

 

The girl dropped down readily beside her, her golden eyes concerned.

 

“Your Grace is troubled.”

 

Dany took sip of the water and picked up a piece of the dried fruit.

 

“I am only tired. You are good to worry but there is no need.” She pointed to the book sitting on the sideboard and Missandei fetched it. Dany opened it and made herself smile. “Let me tell you a story, let me tell you of Westeros.”

 

Missandei leaned close to look at the page.

 

“This one wants to learn of your home.” Her fingers traced the word Targaryen on the page. “This one wants to learn of your family.”

 

Westeros did not feel like home but it did have family. She thought constantly of Aegon’s first encounter with her dragons. They did not harm him, that was true and she did not know what that meant. She did not know if it meant anything at all.

 

_He and I might have wed if not for the war._

 

A lot of things might have happened if not for the war. The war of the usurper changed everything. Dany took a deep breath and began to read to dull her thoughts.

 


	100. Chapter 100: Daenerys & Aegon

**Chapter 100: Daenerys & Aegon**

 

Dany smiled at Aegon when he joined her at the table. They did not eat in the hall. She wanted to see him and speak to him without the extra ears. Her smile became strained when Nymeria Sand joined them. The Dornishwoman did not offer a warm greeting though she did lavish attention on Aegon.

 

“You must not linger too long in this dark and dreary place cousin,” she said in a light and affectionate tone. “The Dornish need the sun and my uncle longs to look upon you at least once.”

 

Aegon offered her a bright smile.

 

“There is little sun anywhere Lady Nym. I shall leave but not until the time is right.”

 

Nymeria Sand took Aegon’s goblet, peered at the contents, cast a hard look at Dany and drank deeply.

 

“You might have asked my lady,” Aegon said in an annoyed tone.

 

“Forgive me your grace,” Nymeria replied. “I did not think your usual taster equal to the task.”

 

Dany watched the two of them. Even their quarrels were tinged with affection. She remembered Viserys and how she once loved him and it hurt a little. Viserys would have wanted her dragons too she did not doubt. Dany would have given them to him freely when they hatched. The very thought of what he might have done filled her with dread. Still she could not forget what he taught her, she was the blood of the dragon.

 

_The dragon must have three heads._

 

If not for the vision in the flames she would not hesitate. There needed to be two more and who would be more suited than her last living kin? She knew that reading with Missandei about her ancestors had made her long to be loved, to have what her kin had before the usurper killed her brother and Jaime Lannister broke his oath and murdered her father.

 

Nymeria and Aegon no longer quarrelled about wine and the lack of sunlight. The subject changed to the book Aegon kept in his chambers.

 

“You have not been seen reading of late. I pray that you have not tired of history.”

 

Dany felt a flash of anger at the Dornishwoman’s impertinence. The colour rose to Aegon’s face.

 

“Do not presume to counsel me in this my lady,” he said sharply. “You forget your place.”

 

The two cousins eyed one another, both tense and unhappy and Dany knew it to have nothing at all to do with the book.

 

“Mayhaps we might read it together Aegon,” she offered. “I learned histories as a girl but there is always more to know.”

 

Aegon gave her a queer look. He seemed lost for words but he gathered his composure quickly enough.

 

“I am certain there is little in the book which is of interest to you Dany. I have put it aside. I think that is for the best.”

 

The way he said it made her feel for him even though she did not wish to. The book interested her because it was not just a book. It represented the girl in some way but Aegon’s bearing and the pained look on his face made her think of Daario and her own feelings when she knew she must marry Hizdahr.

 

_I am not Hizdahr._

 

The idea of wedding another without love or passion did not appeal but she knew that a queen, a princess if that is what she truly was, must do what was necessary for her people. The prospect of a wedding would not trouble her so much if not for her dragons. Her interest in the book remained but Dany did not intend to press him over it, not yet anyway.

 

“Mayhaps there are other things we might read. Tyrion tells me there are ravens from Kings Landing.”

 

“I had heard the same,” Aegon conceded. “Mayhaps you should read them. There are matters in them which concern us both.”

 

Nymeria Sand stood, her dark eyes flashing.

 

“Shall I take my leave your grace? These matters are not ones I can assist with.”

 

The tone was light and the words chosen carefully but Dany understood.  _Lady Nym will never be my friend._  Aegon stood and appeared angered. His beautiful cousin did not shrink from him though she did press her lips to his cheek.

 

“I do not require your assistance my lady,” Aegon bit out. “You may go.”

 

They both watched Nymeria leave and Aegon’s eyes remained narrowed even after she passed through the door.

 

“Dorne is slow to forgive,” Dany said.

 

“They will not trouble us,” Aegon said quickly. “My cousin is hot tempered but she will obey.”

 

“She disapproves of your suit,” Dany said.

 

Aegon tensed. “I do not require her approval.”

 

Dany hesitated and Aegon moved to the seat beside her. He reached for her hand when he sat and Dany let him. They sat together, Aegon’s expression clouded over but his fingers linked with hers. She waited for him to speak of the dragons. He always spoke of them whenever he offered anything close to affection but this time he kept quiet.

 

_He still wants them._

 

“If you attend my chambers I will share the ravens with you,” he finally said.

 

When he rose Dany stood with him and he bent to press his lips to her cheek, the same as she had seen him do with his cousin. The kiss was brief but it startled Dany and confused her further. Both the affection and the offer of information were new. Previously he had guarded it. Dany knew that his pride hurt at every reference to her being queen in her own right.

 

She nodded and reached for him, putting her hand on his arm. Dany knew men, she was twice married but with Aegon everything felt different. He wasn’t just a man for her to decide if she might wed him, if she might bed him. The silvery gold hair and violet eyes and the resemblance to her brother made him different. He was kin and if it were to go wrong, if he were to betray her it would be so much worse after feeling she might not be alone.

 

He smiled at her touch, a friendly smile. People were joining them, entering through the doorway and Ser Jorah frowned. Ser Barristan looked rather more pleased.

 

“Give me an hour,” she told Aegon.

 

*

 

Dany did not know what she expected. She did not expect this. She did not know whether she felt more hurt by the rejection or angry by it. Aegon held the parchment in his hand, frowning at Randyll Tarly’s words.

 

“I knew the Faith would not be pleased,” he admitted.

 

Dany tried to remember what she knew of the Faith Militant. Tyrion contributed more knowledge.

 

“They want to kill the dragons.”

 

Aegon’s expression darkened.

 

“They can try. They did not succeed the first time.”

 

The chambers were rather crowded. Dany knew they should move the discussion to one of the larger rooms but Aegon did not seem inclined to move. Tyrion likewise seemed rather settled beside him, another piece of parchment in his hand.

 

“It seems they can inflict plenty of damage without harming a dragon. Lord Randyll has not been a calming influence. The city burns.”

 

Aegon flushed.

 

“He only reported a fire in the godswood.”

 

“And another at the sept,” Tyrion said mildly. “It will escalate if not handled in the right manner.”

 

“They think Aegon abandoned the people to seek Daenerys’ favour,” Nymeria Sand said lightly. The Dornishwoman attended despite her earlier claim but she did not appear happy.

 

Aegon scowled and Dany was uncomfortable remembering that Tyrion predicted it. The tension in the room rose. Dany looked to Grey Worm. The captain of the unsullied watched those in attendance but his expression was odd. He caught her looking and stood to attention. Dany studied him for a moment as Aegon uttered an objection and Ser Barristan interceded.

 

_Grey Worm would never betray me._

 

It had only been a heartbeat and he now awaited her command should she wish to give it. Dany smiled and turned her attention back to the discussion.

 

“They need to see their king Aegon,” Ashara said softly. “Your presence will calm the people. They will remember your kindnesses and the justice you gave them.”

 

“They forgot quickly my lady,” Aegon said, looking rather prickly. “Besides, the poor fellows spread their message farther than just the city. They preach against Dany throughout the Riverlands.”

 

“They spoke against Daenerys in Essos as well,” Ser Jorah interjected. “They speak from fear.” He met her gaze. “When they know you they will love you.”

 

Dany did not feel so certain.  _How am I to earn their love?_  In Essos she freed slaves from their chains but the people in Westeros did not wear chains, not visible ones at least. They wanted food but she had none to give them.

 

“The dissent will not end,” Marwyn said, giving voice to her fears. “The people will blame you both for their woes and speak of sorcery. The maesters will be only too happy to confirm their fears even if they do not speak it where you might hear. This is not your fight Daenerys.”

 

Dany listened to him but she could not accept it. Her whole life had been about reclaiming the throne stolen from her family. The archmaester spat and Dany remembered Mirri Maz Duur and Quaithe. Quaithe did not warn against him but the godswife was warning enough.

 

“Lord Randyll is not like to calm tensions,” Tyrion pressed. “I have people searching for my sister. Cersei cannot stay hidden long, you may be certain of that. The very thought of me as Lord of Casterly Rock will be maddening. There are other options.”

 

Dany hesitated but Aegon pounced eagerly.

 

“What do you propose?”

 

Tyrion smiled an unsettling smile.

 

“Move the court if you must. The king can do that. Let them see the dragons. Let them see Balerion come again. Some of them could do with a good dose of fear. You can claim the city again any time you wish. The people will be glad of it once they realise they cannot survive on their faith alone.”

 

Dany examined the dwarf. Lysono Maar spoke quietly in Aegon’s ear and Aegon narrowed his eyes at Tyrion. The offered solution benefited her. It also benefitted Tyrion. It did not offer an advantage to Aegon, not a true one and the people in the capital would suffer.

 

“Kings Landing was built by our ancestors,” Dany said. “It cannot be abandoned. I did not come all this way to hide from those who oppose me.”

 

“I have no interest in hiding either,” Aegon said sharply.

 

They eyed one another and Dany thought quickly.

 

“It is time for us to see more of the realm. I know what must be done.” Aegon gave her a smile and Dany took a breath to strengthen her resolve. “We will unite the kingdoms and secure my father’s throne.”

 

Aegon’s smile slipped a little.

 

“We will show them that we are dragons,” he said boldly.

 

Dany knew it of herself. She smiled at him and hoped that she chose the right course. If harm came to him there would be certain war. Whether he was a true dragon remained to be seen but the time to test it would come soon.

 

**Aegon**

 

Arya was smiling his favourite smile. It was the one where he knew she was pleased. Her hair hung loose the way he liked it but seemed much longer. It was odd that she dressed like Dany. Aegon pushed the thought aside, his focus on trying to resist stepping forward and gathering her in his arms. He needed to speak with her.

 

“You must bend the knee,” he told her.

 

She did not appear angered. If anything her eyes sparkled and he tried not to smile at her. He failed and cursed himself for not remaining kingly.

 

“We spoke of this,” he said, trying to sound reasonable.

 

“We did,” she agreed. “You did not act so stupid then.”

 

Aegon’s smile faded. She did not treat him with respect. He knew he must quarrel with her, must make her see that this was the only way. Daenerys would insist upon it but Aegon was not simply doing it for her. He knew he must restore the kingdoms, even if it displeased Arya. It did not turn out to be easy though.

 

Arya shook her head and stepped towards him. He wondered if her hips had always swayed that way or whether he had spent too much time near Lady Asha and imagined it.

 

“Arya,” he began but instead of chiding her it came out low and hoarse.

  
“You need the dragon Aegon,” she told him, looking up at him with those wise dark eyes. “That is why you are here.”

 

He looked into her face without speaking for a moment. “You need to bend the knee,” he repeated.

 

She dropped suddenly to her knees. Her hands reached to lift his tunic and her fingers began deftly untying the laces of his breeches.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked, startled.

 

“My knees are bent, stupid,” she said, cocking her head and grinning at him. “I’m doing what you asked.

 

“That isn’t,” he faltered as her hands reached into his smallclothes. His cock did not listen to his protests and he was hard before she even touched him. He missed her mouth on him but it had never been like this, not with her on the floor. “I still need your men to-“

 

He stopped speaking at the feel of her tongue. He fought to keep his hips from jerking as she took him into her mouth. Arya looked up at him and when he caressed her, smoothing her hair back from her face she seemed even more determined to please him.

 

He woke with a start to a servant in his chambers and immediately felt the dampness from his seed. He knew it must be morning despite the perpetual darkness. The disappointment mixed with frustration and he turned on the woman.

 

“Leave me be.”

 

She scurried out the door and he turned on his side, closing his eyes to block out the light from the torches. He wanted to remember his dream. It had been such a good dream, not like the others. If he really tried he could hear her laughter and see her grin, the way it lit up her long face.

 

Asha Greyjoy knocked at his door while he broke his fast. He tried not to look at her hips as she approached him, the dream still lingering though he knew he must forget it. He was finally going to ride a dragon. It was what he came here for. His dream told it true. Part of him felt a little ill but he tried to ignore that part.

 

“Good morrow my lady,” he greeted Asha.

 

Lady Asha did not seem to think it a good morrow. She dropped into the chair across from him with a frown on her face, her usual smile nowhere to be seen.

 

“You are still planning to leave your grace.”

 

“I never intended to stay,” he replied. He offered her a smile. “Will you miss me? I will be back before you know it.”

 

Asha still did not smile. Aegon began to feel troubled.

 

“My nuncle listens too closely to Moqorro. The priest is dangerous.”

 

Aegon exhaled.

 

“Is that all? You had me worried.” He pushed a piece of hard bread in front of her. “I am not afraid of the priest. Thoros did not frighten me and Dany has Benerro offering counsel.”

 

Asha gnawed on the bread and Aegon swirled his lemon water before taking a swallow. She set the bread down after only a couple of bites.

 

“Moqorro is not Thoros. You’d do well to keep that in mind. I’d also ask you to remember that I have honoured our agreement.”

 

Doubt began to creep in. Aegon knew Victarion misliked him. The man saw him as a rival but Aegon did not fear him either.

 

“Our agreement involved Euron not Victarion,” he reminded her. “You assured me that Euron was the danger.”

 

Asha seemed to be struggling. She did not answer straight away.

 

“I am not your enemy,” she finally said. “I have served you well, have I not?”

 

Aegon pushed the bread closer to end the discussion.

 

“You have. Your uncles will yield or they will die. See that Victarion knows this before I return.”

 

He left her there. A horse waited for him when he reached the yards and Aegon rode to the camp to meet with Ser Brynden. He did not ride alone, Lord Edmure offered sullen company for a man offered a reprieve from his confines.

 

“What do you want me to tell my uncle your grace?” Edmure asked.

 

“You can tell him whatever you wish my lord. I’m sure you have much to speak of.”

 

Dany made the suggestion and Aegon took it. He knew there must be a price but for now he accepted it. When they reached the tent Ser Brynden looked almost as sullen as his nephew.

 

“What did they ask of you Edmure?”

 

It was not the welcome Aegon expected but Edmure did not look surprised.

 

“I am still a guest uncle. Daenerys expects me to return.” He frowned. “Riverrun is still in Lannister hands.”

 

The Blackfish scowled.

 

“It will not remain so.”

 

Aegon cleared his throat and both of them looked at him.

 

“I must speak with Ser Brynden.”

 

Edmure took his leave and Ser Brynden’s expression darkened even more.

 

“Is this where you tell me Edmure will die if I do not kneel and write to Arya?”

 

Aegon knew he reddened.

 

“I am to meet Dany Ser,” he said stiffly. “I must take action to end the unrest. The realm will see what they are opposing.”

 

“It will be blood and fire.”

 

There was judgement in the tone and Aegon did not like it.

 

“Mayhaps,” he said defensively. “I will return.” He hesitated before producing parchment. “These are my orders in my absence.”

 

Ser Brynden eyed him warily as he took it.

 

“It is unlike you to be so cautious your grace.”

 

Aegon grinned. “Nym has counselled me.”

 

The Blackfish laughed. “It is unlike her to be so cautious.”

 

Aegon’s grin faded. “Edmure is to return on the morrow. I am trusting you Ser.”

 

The knight read the parchment in silence and nodded.

 

“Your army is melting away with the wait but I will be here when you return, your grace.”

 

Aegon clasped his arm warmly and bade him farewell. It was late when he met his aunt.

 

“Illyrio left Kings Landing at my behest,” he said. “He thinks to meet us here to answer your questions.”

 

Dany seemed unconcerned.

 

“We will not be gone long.”

 

Ser Barristan stood only a few paces away, his expression unreadable. Nym was by his side. Aegon joined her and he felt her worry by the tightness of her grip. His other guards looked no less concerned and he knew they did not agree with him leaving without protection.

 

_I have my sword. I can protect myself._

 

Nym looked to the sky.

 

“I will kill the beasts if harm befalls you.”

 

Part of him suspected that she might try it regardless.

 

“Behave cousin,” he chided her, offering his cheek to kiss. “I do not wish to return to a war.”

 

Nym gave him the kiss.

 

“I will not be the cause of it,” she said, a little too sweetly.

 

Tyrion Lannister waddled up to join her.

 

“I shall endeavour to keep her too amused. I can be very amusing if I wish it.”

 

“I remember,” Aegon replied.

 

Dany spoke with Ser Barristan, extracting a promise.

 

“I shall guard them with my life your grace,” the old knight said solemnly.

 

The shadow and the thunderclap of Drogon’s wings caught him unaware. Dany held the horn but she had not blown it. The dragon landed and called to her and Dany handed the horn to Grey Worm. She then strode to meet Drogon and the dragon stilled, submitting to her touch.

 

“The saddle has taken too long I’m afraid,” Tyrion said apologetically.

 

Aegon did not understand at first. He watched Dany climb on Drogon’s back. When she shouted to him and held out her hand he felt like a fool. Tyrion made a tsking noise.

 

“You did not think she meant for you to ride one of the others?”

 

Aegon wanted to vent his frustration.

 

“She did not tell me.”

 

Tyrion shook his head.

 

“You did not listen. Consider it a test and think of it this way. You will be only the third person to ride a dragon in more than a century.” Drogon looked to be impatient. Tyrion seemed half envious and half laughing at him. “Your person is precious to many. I would not take unnecessary risk.”

 

Aegon struggled with the urge to stand his ground and demand another dragon. He quickly realised it to be futile. The others were nowhere in sight this time. He approached Dany cautiously. The dragon snorted smoke and spun to look at him, its red eye huge and trained on him. Dany spoke loudly to it in high valyrian.

 

“He won’t hurt you.”

 

The small tremble in her voice gave her away. Aegon looked up at her. She hid it well but she was afraid. Aegon took a breath.

 

_I am a dragon._

 

He did not hesitate this time as he closed the gap. He knew if he did his courage might fail him and the dragon would know. Drogon’s scales offered little grip but somehow he managed to vault on. At Dany’s instruction he held onto her as Drogon roared. He twisted and lurched beneath them and Aegon’s heart thudded in his chest.

 

“Sōvegon,” Dany cried, raising the whip high over her head and bringing it down on Drogon’s scales with a loud crack.

 

The dragon obeyed, his wings folding and muscles tensing and Aegon clung to Dany as huge wings stretched out and whipped the air around them and the ground shrank beneath them. It felt exhilarating and frightening at the same time and despite his resentment at being a passenger, he was finally flying and it felt  _right_.

 

 

 


	101. Chapter 101: Aegon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m finally back! Many thanks to those who left comments on my note about the hiatus, your support means a lot. The dissertation is done but for the final few amendments and I have recovered some from the burn out of wrangling that beast. Updates will be weekly for at least the next month and you will be guaranteed updates because I have a few chapters ready. I know chapter numbers do not line up but I’ll be deleting the hiatus note soon and then it will be fixed  
> Anon comments have been disabled because of problems with a troll, I may reinstate them but for now this is necessary. You can always message me on tumblr if you have something to say (as long as it isn't hate). Anyway, I hope you enjoy the new updates <3

**Chapter 101: Aegon**

Aegon tried to look down as they flew but the land beneath them passed so quickly he recognised little. He let go of Dany only the once before realising his folly and resuming his grip lest he fall, his heart beating wildly in a mix of exhilaration and terror. He did not know how long they were in the air but it seemed a terribly long time and his exhilaration eventually gave way to apprehension when he realised they were flying over the Riverlands, the twisted towers of Harrenhal offering his first clue as to their location.

_It would have taken weeks by horse to travel this far._

Dany spoke but Aegon could not hear her, the wind took her words before they reached his ears. Drogon slowed suddenly in the air and Aegon lurched in his seat, holding onto Dany tighter. He heard her laugh and tried to bury his annoyance.

_With practice I’d be as good a dragonrider as she is. Mayhaps even better._

“Shall we land?” she asked him.

_Ser Bonifer will be thrilled_ , he thought with a grin, remembering the sermons he received the last time he was at the castle. The grin faded as he thought of the knight’s devotion to the faith. The ability to fly over mountains would not be likely to impress Ser Bonifer. If anything the presence of the dragon and Dany would displease those within Harrenhal. The Faith frowned upon dragons and wished them ill and Ser Bonifer frowned upon women even more. Aegon wanted to impose his will on the Faith Militant but not like this, not with his aunt in control of the dragon.

“Not here,” he replied.

As Dany urged Drogon on with the whip Aegon cast a glance back, wondering if he made the right choice. _I will greet Ser Bonifer with my own dragon,_ he decided.

The ache in his thighs and the dryness of his eyes no matter how often he blinked soon had him wishing he had risked his pride. Aegon had not been saddle sore in some time but riding a dragon differed greatly from riding a horse. Drogon was far wider than any other mount and Aegon’s body protested. They landed to spend the night in a village and it hurt to move.

The villagers fled before they landed. Dany was dismayed at their fear. Aegon supposed it was to be expected. The Faith had spread untruths. He did not like it, remembering the villagers smiling upon him the last time he travelled there.  He consoled himself that at least there were no witnesses to his discomfort other than Dany. His aunt looked sympathetic, even as he tried to hide it from her.

“It is not so different to a horse,” she offered. “It hurts at first.”

Aegon did not want her feeling sorry for him. _I have the blood of the dragon, just like her_. He tried and failed to get comfortable enough to sleep. The hours passed slowly as he watched the fire flickering in the hearth, wishing it offered more warmth. Dany slept not far from him, each of them taking a bed in a room which appeared to be shared usually by several people.

Long before dawn he woke, having finally drifted off for what seemed like no time. He did not know what woke him at first until he heard Dany.

“No,” she protested.

He hesitated before getting up and approaching her. She was still asleep but distressed. He perched on the edge of her mattress, still uncertain.

“Dany,” he said softly.

It wasn’t enough to wake her. He put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle nudge and her eyes opened immediately. She sat up quickly, turning wildly as she looked around the room, her silvery gold hair dishevelled.

“You seemed upset,” he explained.

Dany became still and she reached up, touching his face. Her eyes were wide and fearful.

“I was dreaming.”

Her breathing slowed a little as he looked into her face. For a moment she looked at his mouth, her fingers brushing his cheek and Aegon thought she intended to kiss him. Instead she reached for him, delicate hands slipping around his waist and she pressed her face into his jerkin. Aegon held her, held her like he might hold Nym if she sought comfort from him. He rubbed her back, just gently.

“It was only a dream.”

He heard her sigh against him.

“My dreams come true,” she murmured.

Aegon thought of his own dreams and almost shuddered at the thought. Dany lifted her head to look at him.

“Don’t ever betray me.”

He caught her hair in his fingers where it hung down her back. She did not break eye contact with him as he freed his hand and touched her face, just as she had his.

“I won’t if you don’t.”

Dany blinked at that answer, as if startled.

“I wouldn’t.”

She shivered a little and hesitated before curling up against him again. Aegon did not return to his bed, too sore to protest and not sure if he should.

_This is what I have worked towards, gaining some measure of affection._

He still did not sleep, his thoughts taken up with what Dany said. She breathed evenly now, warm beside him and seemingly at peace. If only he could feel the same. He heard Drogon outside, another reminder of his true purpose.

When morning came Dany offered that he might rest a little longer.

“No,” he said quickly. “I am ready if you are.”

Dany sighed and shook her head. If anything she seemed amused.

_I will not have her think I am weak._

He did not intend to give her any cause to deny him a dragon upon their return to Casterly Rock. Her amusement faded quickly.

“It is probably for the best if we do make haste. I must not keep you away too long.”

A retort sprang to Aegon’s lips, he was tempted to make a jape but he knew she spoke the truth. The reminder of those left behind disquieted him. _Nym will lack patience in my absence._ He did not want to return to a war, to find himself and Dany on opposing sides. Brynden Tully’s counsel rang in his ears along with memories of Lord Connington’s insistence that he unite his cause with his aunt’s. He studied her a moment. She was dressed in woollen pants and a warm jerkin, rather similar to what Arya used to wear. It reminded him uncomfortably of his dream the night before he left Casterly Rock.

He tried to direct their flight as best he could but the wind blew his words away as they had with Dany’s. Soon he was not entirely sure where they were, only that they remained in the Riverlands. He could just make out the glimpse of a frozen riverbed here and there below them but he could no longer tell which river it belonged to, not from this height. He supposed it mattered little.

_We are to send a message to those who oppose me, to those who oppose House Targaryen_.

Their opponents were spread throughout these lands. Aegon knew that word would spread of the dragon and fear of them with it. Even if the villages were abandoned when they landed, he did not doubt they were seen. He did not like not knowing where they were, he did not like the lack of control but as their flight wore on it took everything he had to hold on, to endure the pain and not disgrace himself by falling.

Dany finally gave a shout and Drogon began to descend once more. Too late Aegon blinked his stinging eyes and recognised the castle.

_This was not the plan._

Dany was murmuring to Drogon in high valyrian. Aegon tensed and tried to keep his temper in check, wondering if she had planned it all along.

“We did not agree on this,” he said, just before the ground crunched under Drogon’s feet.

He felt Dany tense too as the dragon flapped his wings a final time before becoming still, just out of range of arrows.

“We both need somewhere to rest. This castle must be taken. I do not see cause for us to quarrel.”

She half turned to face him as the dragon shifted beneath them. She looked concerned and Aegon wrestled with himself before softening.

“We do need somewhere to rest,” he agreed.

He looked past her to the castle with its watery borders. Ser Brynden spoke of it sometimes, usually with a touch of wistfulness. _Riverrun._ The rivers were frozen but his armies still could not attempt to storm the castle when they passed, not without losing thousands of men. The sluice gate had been opened at some point and the ditch filled with water, that water had a crust of ice over it too.

“I would have taken the castle,” he said. “They must know that they cannot stand against me. They have no allies. Their cause is hopeless.”

A horn blew before Dany could respond. The drawbridge began to lower. When it was down Aegon saw the peace banner, a single rider trotting across the planks. He hesitated.

“The Freys cannot be trusted.”

Dany shook her head and began to urge Drogon forward. Aegon remembered Dragonstone and watched warily for archers. He wore armour, Dany did not. The dragon responded instantly to every signal and Aegon wondered at the absence of the dragon horn, not for the first time.

“I come to offer terms,” the knight on the horse told them. He was as pale as milk.

Drogon snorted and smoke rose from his nostrils. Aegon made to answer but Dany beat him to it.

“The only terms we will accept are the surrender of all within the castle.”

The knight’s mouth opened and shut. Drogon moved closer and an arrow was loosed. The dragon roared and twisted and the shaft bounced harmlessly off the hard scales of his shoulder, just shy of Dany’s leg. Aegon gripped tightly with his thighs as Drogon reared up similarly to a horse, wings outstretched.

“Now you’ve made him angry,” he complained.

Aegon tried to hide his fear and heard the clatter of hooves as the knight backed up in terror. Dany was not afraid though, Dany was angry.

“You would attack while negotiating peace,” she said loudly. “Dracarys.”

The knight screamed as Drogon bathed him in flame. His horse screamed too. The smell made Aegon feel sick. He thought of his cousin briefly though he knew the thought to be uncharitable. _I would have killed the envoy too._ To attack while negotiating peace was a grievous breach of custom.

Drogon took to the air. Dany was shaking and when the dragon slowed he patted her leg awkwardly.

“They would kill my dragons,” she said.

“They didn’t hurt him,” Aegon offered.

It did not seem to reassure her and she took the whip to Drogon again, flying over the castle this time. Aegon saw what she meant to do and remembered Ser Brynden’s angry declaration during council.

_“I would rather see Riverrun burnt than in the hands of Freys and Lannisters.”_

Aegon told him it would not come to that, he never intended it to come to that but he offered no protest as Drogon set fire to one of the topmost towers. They circled the castle, its defences useless against dragonflame but Dany did not continue to press the attack. Instead she guided the dragon to land once more, watching the smoke rise from the burning tower.

_This is not like my dreams._

The thought came to him suddenly. The screaming knight was the only one to bear the brunt of the anger of both dragon and rider. There was death to be sure, but Dany’s anger was controlled. He sat behind her, studying her again while she watched the castle. Soon a stream of people crossed the drawbridge and they approached once more.

A large woman led, more square than round. Her expression was utter disdain as she spoke with her companions.

“Kneel,” she said to the man beside her. “You fool, I warned you what would happen.”

The man knelt as instructed. Aegon gave another wary look for archers before climbing from Drogon’s back with as much dignity as he could muster, trying to hide how much he hurt.

“Give me your names,” he demanded.

The woman looked him up and down. “I am Lady Genna, this is my Lord Husband, Emmon Frey.” That was all the acknowledgement they gave him. It was Dany they looked to and Dany they knelt for, one after the other, the entire garrison, dozens of men. It was Dany whom Lady Genna spoke to, all the scorn leaving her voice.

“Forgive my husband his folly and we will be your leal subjects. I know my history and I counselled them against it but I am only a woman and they did not listen.” She looked up then and her green eyes were familiar, shrewd like Tyrion even if his did not entirely match. “I had four brothers, now I alone remain. I do not intend to join them, not yet. Your ancestor met mine on the Field of Fire and he was wise enough to surrender, pledge fealty and live.”

“You ancestor?” Dany asked.

“King Loren of Casterly Rock. I ask for the same mercy shown him, your grace.”

The anger went out of Dany just like that. She slid from the dragon’s back and Aegon knew that there would be no more death. They looked to Dany, still kneeling and his aunt told them to rise. Those gathered gave thanks, addressing her as _your grace_ and Aegon seethed.

It was all because of the dragon. Dany joined him and he did not look at her at first. He waited while the garrison gave up their weapons, swords piling up before him. As the people retreated Dany clasped his hand in hers.

“We have taken the castle Aegon.”

She looked uncertain for the first time since they spotted the castle, worry in her violet eyes, so like his. Aegon tried to bury his resentment.

“You took the castle aunt.”

She flinched a little. “You are displeased.”

Aegon made himself smile.

“I’m just tired Dany.”

She smiled back and he knew then that it was the formality which stung her. She squeezed his hand.

“We will have warmth and a comfortable bed tonight.”

_If they do not try to kill us in our sleep._

“A comfortable bed is what I need,” he said instead.

He cast a glance at Drogon as they began the walk across the drawbridge. His resolve had strengthened after the fall of Riverrun, no matter that the castle brought to mind memories of Arya and her talk of family. _She said I was not her family_ he reminded himself. Lord Connington told it true and Aegon now saw it for himself.

_Dreams or no I will have a dragon._

Then it would be him the people would kneel to.

 


	102. Chapter 102

**Chapter 102: Arya**

_“You should have told me.”_

_“I was going to. I tried, you didn’t want to go to the godswood.”_

_“You kept it secret Arya, you kept secrets just like you used to. I am a Stark too, even if I lost my wolf.”_

Sansa was so angry, angry and frightened. Arya did not expect it, and then when her sister brought up Lady it opened up old wounds. Arya sat on her bed now, her knees drawn up to her chest.

“Cersei had Lady killed,” she whispered. “It was Cersei and Joffrey.”

She tried to tell Sansa but in telling her she had gotten angry all over again about Sansa lying and Sansa had gone very quiet and left her there in the godswood. Rickon ran after Sansa and Bran had just whispered, so very softly.

“She is afraid. Maybe if she had been told…”

Arya shut her eyes tight and wrapped her arms around her knees. They all took Sansa’s side. Arya wondered if Bran was right, whether she should have said. _Am I as bad as Sansa for not saying?_ Not saying something was not the same as lying, she had always told herself that. It did not make Aegon less angry when he found out about Connington.

_She would not have believed me._

She sighed. Sansa did not cry in the godswood but Arya heard her in her chambers, so quiet that nobody else might have caught it but Arya was trained to hear the things that weren’t meant to be heard. Now Rickon was with her and Brienne too and Arya was alone, alone except for Haldon because Haldon was _her_ friend, even if he did only come North because Aegon told him to.

_Even Nymeria left me to hunt._ The wolf returned during the day but her nights were spent with her pack.

Haldon’s knock was sharp. “May I enter?”

He did not call her _your grace_. Arya liked that. She jumped up quickly and ran to open the door. Haldon seemed to grimace as he entered.

“Is something wrong?”

She kept the worry from her voice. The halfmaester shook his head. Arya followed his gaze to the circlet she had left beside her bed.

“I don’t want to wear it now,” she admitted.

Haldon gave her a thin smile. “It was made for you. I don’t suppose he told you that.”

Arya tried not to look startled. She tried not to look at it and failed. It wasn’t like the other crowns she had seen, the ones at Kings Landing. _I should have known._ She caught her lip between her teeth, realised what she had done and stopped.

“You would not have worn it if you knew.”

It wasn’t a question. Arya nodded, just a tiny nod.

“You heard from him.”

Hers was not a question either.

“Aegon is a guest at Casterly Rock.”

Haldon gave the words sparingly. Arya still knew what it meant by his tone. _Daenerys did not reject him._ It hurt far more than she wanted it to. She knew she should be glad, he might have been harmed if their meeting went wrong but it made Aegon’s parting from Arya more real.

“Is there news of my uncle?”

“Ser Brynden is well.”

Arya wanted more than that. She waited expectantly, letting the silence linger in the hopes Haldon would keep speaking. People usually did, they did not like long silences but it did not work with Haldon.

“I will write him.”

Haldon’s mouth tightened. “That would be best.”

He lied, he did not think it best for her to write to the West but if he would not tell her about her uncle she would have to write. The silence lingered and longer this time. Arya moved around the chambers, fetched goblets and poured mulled wine for both of them. It had been sitting but it was still warm. This time Haldon did speak as she offered it to him.

“Wyman Manderly has been very generous.”

Haldon meant something more, Arya could tell. He had that look he got when he had puzzled something out and thought himself clever.

“Lord Wyman can afford to be generous,” Arya said carefully. Haldon smirked and she became defensive. “The Freys killed his son, he had more reason than most to want the Starks to return to Winterfell.”

“He had reason,” Haldon agreed.

Arya drank her wine, trying not to get annoyed.

“I know he is ambitious, I’m not stupid. He will want something.”

Haldon softened, becoming more like the man who was her friend, not the maester.

“You do not sleep enough.”

It was true. She felt burdened, too burdened for sleep and when she did sleep she wished she hadn’t.

“I’ll sleep more now I’m here,” she lied. “The lords will look to Rickon and Sansa as much as me.”

He shook his head.

“They won’t look to your sister. The Lannisters saw to that.”

It was true but Arya shook her head anyway. “She is still a Stark,” she replied, remembering Sansa’s hurt accusation.

“I will give you a sleeping draught,” Haldon said abruptly.

Arya shook her head at first but he would not relent. When he returned she sniffed the concoction, looking into his face and drank before climbing under her furs to sleep.

“I will let Lord Wyman mint his coins,” she murmured while Haldon still lingered. “That is what he wants.”

She was starting to drift but she still heard his reply, his doubt.

“If you think that will serve, my lady.”

She was too tired to ask for his counsel, too tired. She blinked heavy lids and wished Jon was there. Jon would be on her side, Jon would muss her hair and even if he did not call her little sister in his letter he would do it if he were near. Jon would make everything alright.

*

Arya knocked at the door, ignoring the frown from the man guarding. There was no answer from within so she opened it.

“I heard you had your baby,” she said.

Walda Frey was as far as she could get from the door, her face a mask of terror. She held her daughter in her arms. Arya saw instantly that she had not been eating well at all. She wasn’t near as plump as when Arya last saw her.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

Lady Walda made her disbelief known. She looked down at the child then at Nymeria. Arya told the wolf to sit. Nymeria stayed by the door but remained standing. Arya frowned at the wolf before giving up and turning her attention back to the woman on the other side of the chambers. Keeping Nymeria back made no difference to Walda’s fear.

“You will take her from me.”

Arya had heard the men talking. The male line of the Boltons had been extinguished, the baby was heir and the lords petitioned to have her wed. Arya was disgusted. She shook her head now.

“Nobody is marrying your baby.”

Walda looked at Arya, suspicion in her eyes.

“They don’t have to do that to take her.” She hesitated. “Your grace,” it was a whisper and a sullen one. Arya paid it no mind.

“Are you going to try to run away?”

Walda Frey’s laugh was half a sob.

“Where would I go? I have no family, no friends.”

Looking at her Arya felt pity. Lady Walda looked wretched, miserable.

“I’ll tell them to stop guarding you.”

There was no thanks. If anything Walda looked more frightened. _She fears an attack._ Arya did not know what more to say. She began to retreat. As she turned she heard the woman whispering.

“I only wanted a good marriage.”

Arya half turned, saw Walda’s tears and pretended she hadn’t. She left, doubts about Walda Frey added to her mounting worries. _She is a Frey, she was one of them_. The woman in that chamber was not somebody Arya could be angry with. The direwolf seemed to agree, leading the way without a hint of aggression as Arya left the chambers.

*

The Stark bannermen did not share her views. Rickon was there when Arya joined them to hear petitions and he smiled at her, Brienne standing still and solemn not far from his side. Arya was so relieved to have him there, to have him show her any support that she immediately forgot him leaving her to run after Sansa.

_The bannermen must listen if we are united._ They didn’t though, not in the way she hoped.

“The Dreadfort must be secured,” she was told almost immediately.

Arya frowned. “It already seems secure to me.”

They did not like that. Arya did not care.

“A lord of the Dreadfort will better manage the lands your grace,” Lord Wyman said respectfully. “The incomes from those lands will be needed with winter upon us.”

Arya looked at Aly Mormont.

“Won’t the castellan be able to do that? Isn’t that why I named one?”

The young She-Bear grinned at her.

“Aye your grace.”

Lord Wyman withdrew his objections with good nature, Lords Ryswell and Glover did not, grumbling under their breath about _that Frey woman._ Arya wanted to tell them what she saw, that Walda Frey was no threat and they should let her be. They began to speak of Arya marrying instead and that was worse.

_Ladies are supposed to marry high lords_ she thought, remembering what Walda said again. It wasn’t right though, it wasn’t what Arya wanted. Whenever she imagined being close to a man again she did not picture any of the North men. It was not their faces she saw, nor their laughter or smiles or kisses. Arya shook her head.

“Arya isn’t for that,” Rickon interjected, looking older than his nine years. “She doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to.”

Arya had never loved him more. She reached out and took his hand in hers.

“There are other matters of concern my lords,” Brienne said in a grave voice.

Arya almost smiled at the maid of Tarth for helping. She knew why Brienne spent so long with Sansa, even if the distance stung. Her friend looked guilty even now. The urge to smile passed at the thought of her lady mother.

_She promised mother she would find Sansa as well as me._

She was not allowed to dwell on painful memories of mercy, Brienne was right. They did have other concerns. The North men were not willing to relent quickly though.

“You gave your word that you would decide on a match upon your return from the south, your grace.”

“The fighting is not done,” Arya told them.

“The Skagosi say the war is in the North,” Rickon said.

A snort was heard. “The Others are a tale for children. You cannot believe this.”

“Skagos requested our aid,” Arya said stubbornly. “They fled their home in fear. It is more than a tale. Jon has said…”

She heard somebody mutter “bastard” and set a cold gaze in their direction. Nymeria stirred from her place and growled.

“A betrothal would put an end to the troubling tales which could bring the dragons upon us,” Lord Robett said gently.

_He means the things they say of me and Aegon._ The dragons at least were no longer an idea to be laughed at. The men had heard too much to consider them to be myth.

“Aegon is with Daenerys,” she said stubbornly. “My uncle is with him. Ser Brynden will see that Daenerys does not think of us as an enemy.”

She could see they doubted. _We may need the dragons from what the Skagosi tell._ The council would not let it rest.

“There is a report that you correspond with him still,” Lady Dustin said bluntly. “Your maester is one of his men.”

Arya felt dismayed though she hid it. She wanted to tell them Haldon was her friend but that would not do. _They might want me to send him away._ The thought almost brought tears to her eyes. She had lost so many friends already.

“Haldon sends no messages from me,” she said. “He is the only one who will tend to the direwolves.”

Lady Dustin grinned, an unpleasant grin.

“The direwolves need no further tending to by him or others of his kind.”

Arya felt her colour rise, knowing Lady Dustin did not speak of the animals or of Haldon. More than one person coughed and Arya heard laughter. Brienne moved and rested her hand at Arya’s shoulder, a hesitant gesture but no less comforting. Nymeria’s hackles were up, even if she did not make a sound.

“Your report is wrong,” Arya insisted. “I won’t hear any more.”

It did not stop her thinking of who had spread it.

“If you must go North to visit your half brother it is not for us to object,” Lord Robbett said gently. Arya felt a rush of gratitude toward him and offered him a smile. “You need only be promised before you leave.”

Her smile disappeared.

“I will think on it my lords,” she offered, hoping to gain time.

“See that you do your grace,” Lord Ryswell said.

She wanted to go back to the way it was, to say she would fight anybody who wished to wed her but there were too many stony faces in the hall and what they said was true, she had made them think she might decide when she returned to the North. She and Rickon needed their support too much to risk angering them and even if Arya wanted to resist, she remembered what was said of Robb after he did not keep his word. The men had heard too much while she was in the south and Arya sighed as she rose to take her leave.

_If only Bran were here._

*

Her brother spoke to the men through the heart tree. Arya heard of it. He did not always speak to her though. She needed him but he wasn’t always there. When he was he sounded afraid.

“I’m afraid too,” Arya admitted, thinking he dwelled on what they faced beyond the Wall.

“The only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid,” Bran whispered.

“You sound like father,” she told him.

He did not seem so scared when she said that. Arya always felt better after talking to Bran. She felt better after seeing Rickon again too. Her young brother resumed his visits to her chambers. The only one she saw little of was Sansa.

“Sansa is still angry with me,” she said to Rickon.

“Bran says she isn’t angry,” Rickon said. “Bran says she is scared.”

“Bran wouldn’t know,” she said, shaking her head.

Arya saw little of Sansa but she still knew her sister avoided the godswood. She went to the hall when Arya wasn’t there, visited the kitchens at a different time. It was only by chance that Arya met her sister on her way to the glass gardens. Sansa was returning with a flower in her hand and a small, sad smile on her face. Ned Dayne was by her side, his pale blond hair hanging in his eyes. He looked like he blushed.

_At least Sandor is not near_. Arya did not need to imagine his reaction to the sight. Arya did not care. Sansa was smiling, that was what mattered. Her smile remained as they met but it no longer reached her eyes.

“I heard you are to be married Arya.”

Arya tried to control her expression but she knew her dismay could be seen.

“I don’t want to,” she whispered.

Something hardened in Sansa’s expression, even if the smile remained.

“We do not always get what we want.”

Rickon became angry, Arya saw it but she did not act quickly enough to hush him.

“He stole you, he should be here, not with somebody else.”

Ned Dayne had the grace to pretend he did not hear. Arya whirled to scold her brother but Sansa moved quicker.

“We are not wildlings Rickon,” Sansa said in a soft voice. “Even if some of us might wish we were.”

Her tone was almost playful, even as she chided him. Rickon opened his mouth again but Sansa shook her head and put her finger to her lips. It was a gesture Arya had used with Rickon before and her wild young brother fell silent immediately.

_He knows it means somebody listens._

Arya heard the heavy footfall shortly before she saw the man approaching.

“It appears Lord Wyman wishes to speak with you Arya,” Sansa said. “We will meet you back in the castle.”

Arya watched them go. They walked slowly, Rickon almost getting ahead of them even as he frowned over his shoulder at Arya. Ned Dayne spoke in a low voice, low enough that Arya did not hear well with the distance between them. Lord Wyman breathed heavily when he reached her side.

“May I walk with you to the gardens, your grace?”

Arya saw no reason to refuse him. They walked in silence, Lord Wyman puffing but still seeming happy enough. When they arrived he unfastened the door for her to step through and Arya felt the immediate warmth.

“You must be glad to have your brother and sister near Arya.”

She had told him to use her name when not in council. It suddenly felt odd. She reached out to touch one of the plants, it was in flower and would soon bear fruit. She pursed her lips and faced Lord Wyman.

“This is their place.”

He gave her one of his odd smiles.

“It is your place too.”

Arya almost told him she knew that but she knew why he said it.

“Jon needs me to go North, my lord.”

Lord Wyman gave a slight shake of his head.

“He needs the men you will send. You should call me Wyman.”

Arya studied him. She did not like this.

“You want something.”

He smiled again. He gestured to some wooden seats nearby but Arya shook her head. She did not intend to move until she knew what he wanted.

“White Harbour has been a good friend to Winterfell.” Arya could hear he wasn’t just saying it, there was some meaning underneath. She was uncomfortably reminded of her conversation with Haldon and she waited. “I have been a good friend to you.”

Arya tensed. He was looking at her intently. He reached out and took her hand. Arya wanted to pull it back, she wanted to back away from him but she owed Lord Wyman, she knew she owed him and she knew there was more to him than the smiling man who brought food from White Harbour, who gave them glass for the glass gardens and sent Lord Davos to fetch Rickon.

“House Stark is grateful,” she said slowly.

“I do not think you a fool,” Lord Wyman said quickly, “and I will not treat you as one Arya. I will not fight you to earn a betrothal,” he smiled again. “I trust that you will not ask it of me.”

Arya was appalled.

“You want me to marry you?”

Lord Wyman was old. He was too fat to even sit a horse. Arya knew it should not matter but it did. He dropped her hand. His expression darkened.

“I can assure you I would be a good husband. White Harbour can provide for you.”

_If I refuse he might take their aid._

“You don’t love me,” she blurted, her thoughts turning to Aegon against her will. When Aegon asked her she did not doubt he loved her fiercely, that he asked because he wanted them to be joined always, to share laughter and comfort and to counsel one another. _My father loved my mother._ Lord Wyman did not love her, he wanted her for her name. He smiled again, this time looking as though he wished to laugh at her.

“It is not often that those of high birth can boast of a love match. I admire you greatly.”

Arya did not want his admiration. He must have seen it too, even if she tried to hide her feelings.

“I am not fair of face,” he conceded. “I will not treat you ill and I can be jolly.” When she did not answer, not knowing what to say without offending him he appeared strained. “I will not discard you for another,” he said knowingly.

 “I was never discarded,” Arya said hotly. “I always meant to return. You don’t know what you are talking about.”

Lord Wyman looked displeased.

“I know of you and Aegon. I do not care.” He gave her a pointed look. “You are not with child?”

Arya’s cheeks grew warm. She had bled since Kings Landing. She shook her head and blinked away tears. It was not meant to be like this.

“You don’t want me,” she tried to tell him. “You shouldn’t.”

He was not convinced and Arya could not tell him the things that might convince him. Her finger knife was just there, hidden up her sleeve but completely useless for this. She did not have Nymeria with her either but the wolf could not help her now.

“Our union would secure the North. You will not receive a better offer. I will expect your answer on the morrow.”

He sat in one of the seats and Arya left him there, trying to appear calm until he could no longer see her. A tear escaped and tried to freeze on her cheek as she fled into the cold. She felt trapped. She had accepted his help, they needed it and now he might take it away but this, how could she do this?

_I can’t,_ Arya thought. _There has to be another way._

She just could not see it.


	103. Chapter 103: Daenerys

Dany knew Aegon was concerned about those in the castle wishing them harm but the garrison at Riverrun was quick to turn on their former lord. They did not dare risk dragon fire raining down on them and Dany was relieved that word had not yet spread of Rhaegal and Viserion being wild. The people feared her and with these people Dany did not mind. They had given orders to harm Drogon, they did not love her and did not want her there, just as the raven from Kings Landing had reported. If fear was what it took for now to restore the realm then Dany would let them fear her and she would not be troubled by it. It did however bother Aegon.

She could see the twist in his mouth when the garrison knelt. It gave her unwelcome reminders of Viserys, even though she was not sure that was entirely fair. Aegon wore a crown, it was not wrong for him to expect their fealty but his scowl still gave her pause. _Viserys was cruel, Aegon is not._ She reminded herself that he had been kind to her, even when he did not have to.

_He offered me comfort from my dreams._

Lady Genna still scolded her husband. She looked to Dany.

“Emm always did say no man would take this castle from him.”

She fought back a smile. The remark hurt Aegon’s pride. It was not her fault. If he had sought her instead of trying to conquer Westeros alone things might have been different. She still remembered the way Viserion looked at Aegon. Drogon had allowed him to ride behind her, even if Dany knew her black dragon would never let anybody but her approach him alone. Aegon might be a little frightened of the dragons but it was not the same as Quentyn Martell.

_My dragons do not see him the same._

She supposed she did not see him the same either.

“Tell me where the Lord’s chambers are,” Aegon commanded.

One of the former Frey guardsmen was quick to oblige. Aegon acknowledged Dany before departing. His absence made the remainder of her task easier. She ordered Emmon Frey and his wife to be taken to a tower, made comfortable but not free to roam the castle. Dany did not like the way Lord Emmon looked at her. She did not trust that he would yield to her rule. He certainly would not yield to Aegon.

She found the kitchens next.

“We will require a supper.”

They hurried to do her bidding and Dany left them to find Aegon. He was in the solar of the chambers he requested, sitting by the window. He held a quill in his hand and Dany hesitated before crossing the room to join him.

“You are writing to Brynden Tully.”

She thought he might not answer. She thought he sulked but finally he sighed and dipped the quill in the ink.

“He has given me leal service and good counsel. It is right that he knows.”

Dany offered no objection, instead pulling a chair close and sitting beside him. _He has a loyal heart._ Aegon tensed but he continued with his task. His letters were very neat.

_They will know I have not harmed him at least._

“I asked for food for us. Are you hungry?”

This time he offered her a weak smile. “A little.”

Dany touched his hand hesitantly. He did not pull away. His affection was important to her. She had been queen in Meereen, she was still Khaleesi. It distanced her from people and it was a lonely existence. Aegon was the first man to hold her since Daario, and he was high born enough that nobody would frown on it.

_I still don’t understand him._

Aegon tensed when she thought she might kiss him in the village. Dany was not certain he even realised he did it. _He was not willing, even if he does want my dragons._ It confused her and it bothered her. Dany knew the intentions of the others who pursued her, she knew what to expect. She was relieved Aegon did not try to manipulate her affections to take her dragons but it added to her doubts and she had so many of those already.

_He is kin. That has not changed._

She frowned and removed her hand when she saw his quill pause.

“You spoke with Ser Brynden once,” he said stiffly. “You know of Lord Edmure.”

Dany sensed what he wished to say.

“I won’t reward those who took the throne from my father, even if they do speak gently.”

Aegon was not pleased.

“I promised him.”

“You should not have done that.”

“You will never have peace in the Riverlands if you intend to grant this castle to _your_ allies. How many wars do you wish them to have Dany?”

His tone was sharp and Dany bristled, even though she knew the counsel was not wholly wrong

“You have given them too much already,” she told him.

He scowled. “You sound like Lord Connington.”

Dany had risen in her seat, about to leave him there. Her anger gave way to curiosity about her brother’s friend and she sat again. Aegon never spoke of him before. His shoulders dropped and he set the quill down.

“What did he say of my brother?”

“He worshipped him. I think he loved my father better than he loved anybody else. He did not like many people.”

He grieved, Dany could see it. She did not know what to say but he saved her the trouble by pushing parchment at her.

“You must send a raven too. Your people will worry if you do not.”

She accepted the parchment and heard a knock at the door. Aegon rose and she let him answer. A woman brought food.

“You will have some first,” he said to the servant, his voice wary. “The wine too.”

Dany bent over the parchment. The ink did not aid her, even with a fire in the hearth she had to dip thrice to get any to bleed into the paper. By the time she was done a cup of wine was set down by her elbow. She looked up to see Aegon holding his own cup.

“Well that was stupid,” he said mildly but she could see the worry in his face. He picked up the cup beside her. “Mayhaps it is best you do not drink this after all.”

Dany turned to see the serving woman collapsed on the floor. She set the quill down, her rage mixing with her fear.

“They will answer for this.”

Drogon screamed from somewhere very nearby and the sound echoed through the castle. Aegon’s eyes widened as the dragon’s wings sent a thunderclap echoing through the solar. Dany took strength from it, knowing others would hear it too.

_I am the Mother of Dragons and now they will see._

*

Lord Emmon’s head decorated a spike and those in the castle did not appear to mourn, not even his widow. They executed him in the yard, the dragon flying overhead. She would have killed Emmon Frey herself, Drogon responded to her call and her black dragon was angry, as angry as her. It would have been easy but she saw Aegon frown and remembered Nymeria Sand’s accusations comparing her to her father and relented, allowing Aegon to use his blade to do the deed.

For all his angry words Aegon hesitated before following through and he flinched when it took more than one blow. Dany saw the faces on those watching and knew it would not bode well for them. _If they think him weak they will test him._ Dany learned not to hesitate on the Dothraki Sea. _A ruler must appear decisive._ He became defensive when she took him aside. He also looked a little ill.

“I have not killed an unarmed man before,” he said abruptly. “There is usually a headsman.”

Dany understood that well.

“Lord Emmon earned his sentence,” she reminded him. “Draw strength from that.”

Dany might have wished the same fate on Lady Genna but Aegon baulked at it before she could even speak of who might have been in on the plan.

“She is a woman.”

The fury was still fresh for Dany. Genna Lannister held power, Dany did not believe her to be free of her husband’s guilt. _They want me dead, just like they did to my family_. She might understand Aegon’s hesitation but she did not understand why he did not show the same hesitation toward others.

“You cared little for the other dead woman.”

The serving woman had not known when Aegon made her drink. She drank the wine too readily. She was an innocent sent to do the crime of another. Aegon cocked his head.

“Would you rather I let you taste it first?”

Dany did not appreciate the jape. _She did not matter to him._ Aegon clearly put too much stock in birth.

“She did you no wrong. You do not mourn her.”

Aegon gave her a queer look. He eyed her so long and in a way which almost made her blush. He finally muttered something under his breath about _her_ and _smallfolk_ before shaking his head.

“If I knew it was poison mayhaps it would be different. We will never know. We must decide about Lady Genna.”

Dany took a breath.

“She should be put to the question, sharply if needed.”

Lady Genna professed herself grateful for the mercy. Sharp questioning did not appear necessary. The widow accompanied them to the solar after several days in isolation and stood looking out the window at the river.

“Emm never did think much,” she said. “I told him this castle was not for us but once he was given that parchment and got it in his head that he might be a mighty lord it did queer things to him.” She sighed. “It is a hard thing to see the fall of your House.”

Aegon narrowed his eyes.

“The Freys earned their fate with their treachery my lady.”

Lady Genna snorted rather rudely and Dany knew why, even if Aegon did not.

_She did not mean House Frey._

Aegon flushed and the grip on the pommel of his sword tightened.

“You must mind your courtesies my lady,” Dany warned her, seeing that Aegon was not as happy to spare Genna Lannister as he would have her believe.

_He wanted her as a highborn hostage_.

“Forgive me,” Lady Genna said, turning to face them. “My courtesies are not as polished as they once were. It comes from the company we keep. You will need to be clever if you wish to outplay your enemies.”

Dany was tired of enemies. _Westeros was meant to be my home._ Aegon pressed for more information.

“They are in every castle,” Lady Genna reported. “They are within the walls, eating in the hall and smiling to your face and just waiting for an opportunity.” She sighed. “They turned on me quickly enough though I do not have dragons at my disposal.” She smiled. “Not the kind of dragons you have.”

“You think Tyrion will aid you?” Dany asked.

“My nephew will do as he will, my brother learned the truth of that.” She suddenly looked sad. “Wait for the ravens. Dark wings, dark words. I tried to tell Emm that they were no friend of ours.”

Aegon still wore a black expression.

“What trickery is this?”

“The ravens will bring you fast tidings,” Lady Genna replied. “The Lord of the Eyrie has been injured in that fool war against the mountain savages. One wonders if he will recover. That was a nasty business with the Arryn boy. Curious timing even if he was sickly. Baelish always manages to rise above it all.”

“Littlefinger,” Aegon spat.

“Yes, but mayhaps not as little as we might like.” Lady Genna looked amused for a moment before falling silent. “Mark my words there will be no peace for any of us.”

Dany dearly hoped she was wrong.

*

She entered the chambers with the parchment in hand. Aegon looked tired, even if he was no longer suffering from his first experience of dragon riding.

_He sleeps very little._

She saw him struggling in his sleep and woke him more than once. He did not speak of it but she had the feeling he wished she were not there when he opened his eyes.

_He does not want my comfort._

They stayed close to one another at night, each ally to the other. Half the garrison had been sent North, making for the Wall. With no guards Dany did not expect them to keep their word. Neither she nor Aegon knew what to do with the remainder.

_He does not want to relinquish the castle._

Dany did not want it either, even if she knew retaking it would require little effort if those within chose to resist. They could not wait for their own men to arrive and secure the castle. That would take weeks, even if they were well on their way by now. She shuffled the papers and caught his attention.

“Ser Barristan urges us to return,” she told him.

Aegon gave that the barest acknowledgement.

“What of other reports.”

Dany hesitated. The news might help, it might sever his attachment once and for all but Dany was not certain. She steeled herself.

“Arya Stark is to wed Lord Wyman Manderly.”

Aegon blinked at her as though he did not understand. He shook his head and the blood drained from his face.

“It is a lie,” he said. He was on his feet and moving towards her, hand outstretched. “Give it to me.”

Dany passed him the parchment. He sat heavily, all the indignation leaving him. His face contorted and he turned away from her. Her pride hurt. She had been vulnerable before him but he rejected her every attempt to know him. Dany wanted to make him see it was for the best, that it would ease their path to retake the North but reminding him just then that he had allowed the Starks the power they now had felt a little cruel.

_Rhaegar had his Northern girl too_ , she reminded herself.

“He is old and fat,” Aegon said in a choked voice. “He is an old, fat craven.”

“Aegon,” she said, not sure whether to be stern or gentle.

He wasn’t listening to her. He just looked out the window. She took a step toward him before shaking her head. It was not for her to comfort him.

_He never should have wanted her at all._

She wondered whether anybody had told her brother that. _He had a wife._ Aegon still professed to want to wed her, he said it rather determinedly when they were alone together at night though his words lacked passion. He rose now, exiting the solar and she knew he sought the bedchamber. Dany let him go.

*

A day of separation did not appear to lessen his hurt. Dany gave orders for the garrison to follow in their absence, knowing it was past time to leave. She sat in the solar writing to Casterly Rock to tell them. Aegon’s dinner sat across from her, only half eaten. He barely spoke and left not long after her return. When she rose to light the candle to melt the wax for her seal she saw a partially burned piece of parchment in the hearth. The fragment was still readable, the letters neat and now familiar.

_You promised me you would not marry._

Any doubts she had as to what had passed were gone. _He was not just infatuated_. Dany remembered the vision in Benerro’s flames. The other things she saw had not happened yet but this, she now felt certain he and the girl had already been lovers. The rumours were true, just as she had suspected and Dany pushed the unburnt fragment into the flames, thinking of betrayal and promises and false flatterers.

Aegon had dark shadows under his eyes when she saw him.

“We are to leave,” she told him, hardening her heart.

He nodded but remained silent. He followed her out into the yard, still quiet. He only spoke when those in the castle gathered to farewell them.

“Our men will arrive soon,” he told them. “If you welcome them all will go well.”

The people acknowledged him but Dany saw they could barely look away from Drogon. She knew Aegon saw it too. He did not scowl this time but his lips were pressed together in a thin line when Dany climbed on Drogon first and held out her hand to help him. He did not take it and Drogon seemed ill tempered, moving as Aegon approached so that it took him more than one attempt to clamber onto the dragon behind her.

They flew almost in silence too though that differed little to their last flight. They could barely hear one another when they did speak. They landed in the same village as before and Dany wished they did not need to stop. The villagers seemed to share her wish, startling when they saw the dragon and those riding him. She could see they had attempted to flee once more but had not been quick enough.

“We mean you no harm,” she promised.

They were wary and she sensed they did not believe her. _They have been told lies about me._ Dany smiled and continued to reassure them but it was Aegon who charmed them. It was Aegon they knew and Aegon they finally knelt to. An old man spoke more than the others, a village elder.

“I have beds for you,” he offered. “Nothing special but you’ll sleep.”

Aegon smiled warmly and Dany thanked the man with all her heart. He cast a glance at Drogon.

“I don’t have anything for him, begging pardons. The lions left us little.”

“He won’t trouble you,” Dany promised. “He had cattle only this morning.”

She stayed with the dragon for a short while, seeing that he wished to linger by the village and wanting to keep her promise. It was late when she joined Aegon in their lodgings. She saw immediately that he still dwelled on the report from the North. He looked distracted, he still appeared hurt and lost.

He seemed so much younger than he had, so much younger than her.

“Will you sit with me?” he finally said.

Dany hesitated but he looked at her, all messy silvery gold hair and wounded violet eyes and she relented, taking the place he patted on the bed beside him. He reached for her hand. She did not allow it at first.

“You are all I have,” he said softly.

Her hand rested limply in his. _He needs me, he wants my dragons and some still call him a pretender._ Dany began to pull her hand away, not liking the feeling of being second choice. He blinked at her and did not seem to understand that he offended her.

“We are the last of our house.”

Dany sighed. That much was the truth. That knowledge was what made her doubt, it made her consider that he was the best choice, the one she might have wed if the rebellion had never happened, if House Targaryen had not fallen.

“You must forget her if you wish to take back what our family lost.”

Aegon grimaced.

“You do not understand Dany.”

He was wrong. Dany understood too well. She had forgone her own desires, sacrificed her own wishes countless times to do what she must.

“I have loved,” she told him, “and I have lost. I did my duty. I did what my brother demanded, what Drogo demanded and what my people demanded.”

He reached for her again, his hand running up her arm.

“I know.” The words seemed to cause him pain. “You are so very like her. You even sounded like her in the yard after Emmon Frey died.”

He leaned into her and Dany was startled, turning her head quickly so that his lips brushed her cheek. She leapt to her feet. Aegon looked horrified.

“Forgive me aunt.”

Dany took two steps back and shook her head.

“I would leave you here if I could.”

He flushed.

“You accuse me of only wanting your dragons. You always meant to reject me.”

The injustice of his accusation stung.

“We are kin. I grew fond of you but you insult me. How can you not see that?”

His expression became sullen.

“I will not impose on you again. You need not fear.”

Dany wanted to cry. She wanted to strike him.

“We were meant to be allies.”

He lowered his gaze.

“We are allies. I do not oppose you.”

He was wrong. Dany could see the betrayal looming. Aegon would risk all over this girl. He would never forget her. _You are so very like her._ He was right, Dany had not understood but she hoped that what he said was true. If Arya Stark was at all like Dany it would make the conquest of the North much easier.

_She will give up her crown for those she loves, just as I once might have for Daario._

Aegon was kin and it now seemed that was all he could be. He had protected her, saved her life from that poisoning attempt and she would not forget that but she feared it would not matter in the end. She knew what she must do for Westeros, to reclaim her home and unite the realm her father once ruled. The course she knew she must take would set them at odds.

She left him, thankful that they had space in the village. Her bed was far enough from his that she need not see him until morning. When she returned to Casterly Rock she would decide what to do about Aegon. Memories of Viserys haunted her once more. Kinship was not everything, even though she had dearly hoped it would be.

_Please do not let it end in war between us._

Dany had enough battles to fight already but her lessons from Meereen were fresh.

_Dragons plant no trees._


	104. Chapter 104: Ser Barristan

**Ser Barristan**

Ser Barristan almost felt as though he was back in Meereen awaiting Daenerys’ return and surrounded by her enemies. He did not think it wise for her to leave, he did not think it wise at all for her to leave with Aegon but when he offered his counsel she only smiled, a sad smile.

“He grows impatient, I cannot keep refusing him.”

“There is another course you might take,” Ser Barristan had said gently.

Daenerys had frowned. “You would have us wed.”

She resisted the idea. Ser Barristan had his own reservations to begin but those now faded. Daenerys wed Hizdahr for peace. Aegon was not plain of face as Quentyn Martell had been. Daenerys was fond of him, Ser Barristan saw that.

_She fears for what he will do with her dragons._

He sighed, remembering the promise he gave her when she left with Aegon. _I will guard them with my life._ Daenerys was right to fear, men flocked to the castle still in the hopes of seeing the dragons. Not all of them appeared pleased, particularly the Dornish. Some would use them for evil purposes if given the opportunity. Ser Barristan did not intend to give them that opportunity. He made certain to be there when they fed and he doubled the guard, choosing the best men he knew.

“You are troubled ser.”

Lady Ashara discomfited him even though Ser Barristan saw her approach. She smiled in a way which did not seem fitting for one wearing septa robes and she turned her crystal over in her fingers before letting it drop back to rest between her breasts. Ser Barristan flushed and raised his eyes to her face.

“Do you not feel troubled my lady?”

Ashara still smiled. “I am only troubled when men are wicked. Have you been wicked ser?”

Ser Barristan swallowed. _She teases me_. He never thought it might be so and he looked away. _We have both taken vows._ Her hand rested on his arm and he tensed. He tried to summon the will to chastise her but there was no need.

“Is there reason to fear for Aegon?” she asked, her smiles all gone.

_She cares for him as though he is her blood._

“I should not say.”

Her grip tightened. “If you have any regard for me you will tell me.”

Her violet eyes were still startling after all these years. They were now filled with worry. _I cannot speak of this to her._ She would not relent though.

“There has been reports of his regard for the Lady Arya.”

She let go of him and visibly relaxed. Her smile returned.

“Aegon means to wed Daenerys. He will not shame her. His fondness for Lady Arya is no more a concern than Daenerys’ past loves.”

Ser Barristan was surprised at her honesty but her response did not address his concern. _She does not understand._ He cleared his throat, deciding not to point out that Daenerys’ lover was dead while Aegon’s was very much alive and an obstacle to the rule of the seven kingdoms.

“My lady,” he paused. “There have been reports of his continued fondness, a report from his chambers on the morning of the day he left with Daenerys.”

Ashara flushed and Ser Barristan thought her embarrassed but he soon knew his mistake.

“What Aegon does in his bedchamber is not anybody’s concern but the gods,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “He was alone was he not?”

“You mistake me my lady,” he said quickly. “My concern was not borne from the content of the report.”

She grasped his meaning quickly, he saw that by her frown.

“Somebody wishes them to quarrel.”

Ser Barristan nodded, relieved that he need not say more. What a man said alone in his bed was not meant for the ears of others. It pained him to think of the maids overhearing _him_ and speaking of it, of a name uttered in a moment of passion. He reddened as Ashara looked into his face but she did not seem to be really seeing him, let alone suspecting his thoughts.

“They must not be put at odds with one another,” she said softly. “You and I must see that it does not happen.”

Ser Barristan did not need her to ask. “It would mean war my lady,” he acknowledged gravely. “It must not come to that.”

He only hoped that there were enough allies on both sides to prevent it. Ser Barristan was too old to play the game of thrones and he had his fill of it in Meereen. He did not intend to revisit that experience.

*

His intentions mattered little when the other reports came to cause even greater concern. Two ravens came from Riverrun telling of Daenerys and Aegon taking the castle and their intent to linger there until the castle was secure. Ser Barristan did not like their extended absence. He sent men to Riverrun as she requested, knowing Brynden Tully sent his own Riverlands men to join them and warned her of his concerns in his reply. Daenerys was needed at Casterly Rock, Ser Barristan needed her to placate Nymeria Sand because his efforts were going poorly.

“My cousin will be more wroth than I am,” the Dornishwoman proclaimed. “I can promise you that.”

Ser Barristan wondered at the truth of that. Nymeria was incensed, her dark eyes flashing and her face flushed with rage.

“Daenerys gave no order to take the book my lady,” he said once again. “She had no reason to.”

Nymeria’s tone became soft, her voice quiet.

“No reason? We both know that to be a lie.”

He did not like the way she stilled. He preferred the visible anger to the small, precise movements and the way she plucked at her garment. The Sand Snakes were deadly, vengeful. This one was armed, he knew it even if he did not see the weapons.

“Nym,” Ashara said gently. “This serves no good purpose.”

Ser Barristan could see the strain in Ashara’s face, the unhappiness in the way she held her mouth. _She is angry on Aegon’s behalf too._ He did not lie, Daenerys expressed no wish to part Aegon from his book, even if she did wonder at his attachment to it. Ser Barristan might have suspected Tyrion Lannister having a hand in its disappearance but the dwarf seemed so genuinely dismayed by the news.

“It will be found,” Tyrion said darkly, he gave them all a ghastly grin at odds with his tone. “I cannot abide the loss of a good book.”

Ser Barristan studied the dwarf. Tyrion knew more than he said. He had not taken the report well, going so far as to curse when Grey Worm informed them it was missing and of the anger its absence stirred amongst those closest to Aegon. Ashara shot him another unhappy look and left the solar with Nymeria Sand, the latter giving him one more dark look which promised further trouble.

“Daenerys would not give such an order,” he told Tyrion stiffly when the women were gone. Daenerys had been curious, that was true. She expressed a desire to see the book but she was absent now and to take it from Aegon’s chambers without his knowledge was not at all like Daenerys. “I would have known.”

“Our silver queen does not know of this,” Tyrion agreed. “It must be found, no matter the cost.”

Ser Barristan nodded.

“If it is located before Aegon returns no harm might be done.” Tyrion glanced at him sharply, again giving Ser Barristan the feeling that the dwarf his something from him. “You have read it,” he said quietly.

Tyrion smiled.

“I have, though not as much as I would have wished.”

Ser Barristan studied him, then glanced at Grey Worm standing guard by the door. The eunuch met his gaze and Ser Barristan felt unsettled by something he saw there. They had known each other a long time now, they had served together and Ser Barristan respected the man but recently it seemed that Grey Worm behaved queerly. It was only the briefest moments, moments where the eunuch did not show the interest he once had in matters.

_I might almost think him indifferent._

Except that in this he almost seemed to know something.

“Have you heard anything of this missing book Grey Worm?”

The Unsullied commander shook his head.

“This one has heard nothing. The book will be found.”

Ser Barristan buried his doubts. Grey Worm sounded sincere. He even left in pursuit of the book.

“If only Aegon had not grown attached to the Stark girl,” Ser Barristan said stiffly. “This matter of the book would be nothing.”

Tyrion Lannister looked at him with mismatched eyes and snorted. Ser Barristan had the distinct feeling the dwarf wished to laugh at him but he grimaced instead.

“This was never going to be nothing,” he said. “The dragons have seen to that. We must keep a watch on Nymeria Sand. I for one do not intend to fall victim to any more plots for vengeance.”

Ser Barristan agreed readily, remembering the way Nymeria had looked at him when she took her leave. Tyrion rose, stretched and waddled away and it was then that Ser Barristan began to wonder exactly which dragons he meant.

*

“Lady Asha,” he called.

For a moment he thought she would not heed him. When she turned to greet him her usual laughter was absent.

“Ser Barristan,” she replied abruptly. “I do not think I can assist you.”

He bristled. “You do not know what I wish to ask.”

She did smile at that, a brief smile.

“I am not a fool. I know nothing. If it were otherwise you would not need to seek me.”

“Your uncle,” Ser Barristan began gently.

“…wants the dragons,” Asha finished bluntly. “He lacks the wits to play these games.” She frowned. “Did your man die?”

Ser Barristan nodded. The poison was lethal, the maesters could do nothing but try to ease his passing. It was not one of Daenerys closest councillors but he feared that would matter little. The Dothraki were hers, all of them.

“Nymeria Sand swears she did not do it. She took it ill when it was suggested that she might answer to Daenerys upon her return.”

Lady Asha looked doubtful, much as Ashara had.

“If the Snake wanted to hurt Daenerys she would choose another target, she has been vocal in her warnings should Daenerys threaten Aegon.”

Ser Barristan hesitated.

“The others are more cautious.”

Asha Greyjoy snorted.

“Their caution would make no difference if she wished them dead.”

He did not like this. Tyrion Lannister seemed to enjoy puzzling it out, even with all at risk. Lady Asha was wise in her counsel, even if she did speak bluntly. Ser Barristan was not made for this.

“Daenerys will need the one responsible if we are to prevent war.”

Asha’s expression flickered as she seemed to struggle with something.

“You have greater immediate concerns. You must watch my nuncle ser.”

Ser Barristan shook his head.

“Victarion is watched, my lady. If he is not responsible for provoking this quarrel I must focus my efforts on finding the person who is.”

Asha Greyjoy scowled.

“You will be blinded to the true danger. Remember this when my nuncle acts. My people must not suffer for his folly. My brother must not suffer.”

She began to turn away and Ser Barristan caught her arm.

“What is it that you know?”

She did not look at him.

“My uncle did not take the book but he knows its contents. He wants the dragons and he will have them.”

Ser Barristan thought back on Meereen and those who had tried. _The book is more than it seems._ He still did not understand how it could contain knowledge of dragons but now Tyrion Lannister’s mocking made sense.

“The dragons do not want your uncle my lady,” he reassured her. “He failed once, he will fail again.”

She wrenched her arm free and tossed her head, her expression one of pride and disdain.

“You know nothing of House Greyjoy if you think so ser.”

She stalked away from him and Ser Barristan remembered the promise he made Daenerys once more. _I will guard them with my life._ Ser Barristan would not fail her, even if Victarion Greyjoy seemed an unlikely one to truly test him in this matter.

*

It was with reluctance that Ser Barristan approached the Golden Company spymaster. Lysono Maar received him with chilly courtesy. They met in Brynden Tully’s pavilion and for that he was grateful. Ser Brynden at least gave him a warmer greeting.

“You have heard of the tensions within the castle,” he began.

Ser Brynden’s mouth tightened.

“I have heard,” the Blackfish said gruffly. “Aegon must return. The longer he is absent the more men in the camp will suspect that Daenerys wishes him ill.”

Ser Barristan paled.

“Both of them sent ravens. Daenerys means him no harm. You have assurances of his safety in his own hand. You have men on their way to his location.”

Ser Brynden was unmoved.

“You have served more kings than I. You know as well as I do it makes no matter while their supporters are at each other’s throats.”

Ser Barristan looked to the Lyseni.

“Have you uncovered any of the plotters?”

Lysono Maar seemed disinclined to answer.

“Does Daenerys not have her own spymaster?” he finally said.

 _I will not be assisted by this one._ He appealed to the Blackfish instead.

“You know I do not wish for war.”

Ser Brynden sighed.

“You came to Westeros with Victarion Greyjoy and dragons Ser. I have always known how this would end. I only hoped I might recover Edmure, see Riverrun once more and that Aegon might somehow succeed long enough for my niece to have some small measure of peace.”

Ser Barristan felt uncomfortable, not only because Ser Brynden was not wrong but also for the mention of Arya Stark. He chose not to acknowledge it, focusing on the dragons.

“Asha Greyjoy spoke to me of Victarion.”

Ser Brynden’s expression darkened.

“He has been heard speaking of the dragons. He thinks Aegon means to claim the cream one upon his return. Victarion will do anything in his power to stop it.”

Lysono Maar laughed.

“I have more dragon blood than a Greyjoy.” He tossed his pale hair. “In Lys the blood of Valyria is still strong, not so with Victarion. No matter what that fool thinks he knows the dragon will burn him.”

That at least reassured Ser Barristan, even if he still worried for the conflict between those in the camps and those in the Rock. When he came across Benerro and his night fires the priest offered further reassurance.

“You must not fear.”

Ser Barristan lingered a moment, unsure whether to trust what Benerro saw in his flames. The priest had filled Daenerys’ head with doubts before and Marwyn warned against him. Marwyn warned against many though, if Ser Barristan heeded Marwyn’s concerns he might be as paranoid as Aerys.

“You do not see war?” he asked.

Benerro gave him a long look.

“I have seen what will come to pass. The promised one will take her rightful place.”

Ser Barristan did not like his riddles, did not like this talk of prophecy but he took courage from the priest’s certainty, even if the red god was not his god. The priest did have some power, he could not deny that.

_Daenerys will take her seat in Kings Landing._

She need only return and all would be well.

*

“Ser Grandfather.”

Ser Barristan woke quickly, blinking away sleep.

“Is it Daenerys?” he asked the young knight.

The young man shook his head. Ser Barristan could see the alarm in his face. Daenerys was due to return, it had been too long but she would set matters between her people and Aegon’s to rights. There had been skirmishes, blood shed on both sides but he hoped no lasting harm. He hoped that this news would not change matters. Something had struck fear in those within the castle, he could hear them hurrying outside his chambers.

“The dragons,” he guessed, moving quickly to dress.

“The sentries are dead,” his companion said fretfully.

Ser Barristan moved quickly, knowing that if he did not hurry he would be too late. His chambers were close to the surface, a short ride to be above ground. A horse awaited him. It was still dark but the sun would rise soon.

_It is almost time for Viserion and Rhaegal to feed._

He always made certain to be there when they did, mindful of his promise. He rode quickly now, pushing his horse and ignoring his aching joints. The dragons flew overhead as the first rays of sun began to lighten the sky. Then he heard the unmistakeable sound of the horn.

 _It is bound to Daenerys_ he thought instantly, but Daenerys was not there. Drogon could not answer, too far away to heed the call but the other dragons landed. Ser Barristan could hear horses behind him, men in pursuit but it was the figures ahead who gave him pause.

“Who goes there?” he asked as he urged his horse on.

He dismounted to see Victarion Greyjoy, his burnt arm blood from wrist to shoulder and Lysono Maar’s head hanging from his hand. A chill ran down his spine. The priest Moqorro blew the horn. The horn was deafening, an evil sound. Ser Barristan had always thought so, even when Daenerys was the source. All but the Unsullied cringed from it and Ser Barristan did not need to look long to see even they were afraid.

“Fire and blood,” the Iron Captain proclaimed and he laughed.

_He has gone mad._

Ser Barristan remembered other laughter, similar laughter and those same words. _Fire and blood._ The memory of Aerys sickened him, reminding him of failings, of vows kept too well and the crackling of green flame, of wildfire which accompanied that laugh.

“Don’t do this nuncle.”

The woman passed him, her hair blowing loose in the wind and she fell to her knees. It made no difference. Viserion approached and Victarion tossed the head, letting the dragon catch it. Blood dripped from his hand, fresh blood.

_Some of it is his own._

“You will not stand in my way niece.”

Viserion sniffed at Victarion as he approached and roared but when the captain climbed astride him the dragon did not throw him off. Viserion twisted beneath his new rider, eyeing those who approached. He took a step towards Asha, the only woman.

_He wants to know if she is his mother._

Moqorro staggered forward, the horn already affecting him.

_Whatever his intent he did not mean to live to see the outcome._

“You have served me well priest,” Victarion announced. “You shall have your reward.”

Whatever Victarion planned did not come to pass. The dragon saw Moqorro take another stumble toward him and bathed the priest in flame. The man screamed, his flesh melting under the heat of dragon flame. The smell of cooked meat filled the air and Ser Barristan remembered Quentyn Martell. He almost lost his courage.

_I will not fail Daenerys_

Daenerys was the best of them, the one who never asked anything of him that made him question, that made him doubt, Ser Barristan needed to keep the promise he made to her, not just for Daenerys but for all the innocents who would suffer if a dragon feel under the control of one such as Victarion. He approached, hearing Ashara’s familiar voice call his name from behind.

“Barristan don’t.”

“I must,” he told her.

Viserion studied him and Ser Barristan stood his ground, trying to think of the valyrian words Daenerys spoke. _I will not disappoint her._ The dragon showed his long, razor sharp teeth but the noise he made did not sound like a threat.

“Viserion,” he commanded, catching the whip thrown to him by Rakharo. He cracked it just as he had seen Daenerys do many a time. “Rise.”

The dragon snorted and began to rear up, wings outstretched. Victarion tilted on his back, struggling for balance as Viserion roared and stretched. A blood soaked hand slipped on the wet scales, unable to grip and Ser Barristan was filled with hope.

_Viserion knows me. He will listen to me over Victarion._

Victarion cursed, wobbled and Ser Barristan spotted the whip in his hand. It was a vicious looking thing, it made the one Ser Barristan held appear to be a child’s play thing. The Iron captain regained his seat, brought the lash down on the dragon and the instant Viserion responded Ser Barristan knew he was doomed, much as he realised Quentyn Martell must have felt.

“Dracarys,” Victarion bellowed, his high valyrian crude but no less effective.

Ser Barristan instinctively brought an arm up to shield his face, the whip in his hand rising to crack once more but too late. The dragon’s breath burned hot and the pain was like nothing Ser Barristan had ever felt. He fell, only barely hearing the thunderclap of the dragon’s wings as Viserion took flight and then Ashara was by his side.

“You bold old fool.”

It hurt so much. Ashara was bent over him and he struggled to see her. Her tears hissed as they fell on his burned and melted armour.

“I kept my promise,” he murmured weakly.

_I guarded them with my life._

She was still bent over him, weeping and scolding him. He closed his eyes and prayed for the pain to stop, telling her the one thing he had failed to all those years earlier at Harrenhal. His time had come and at least he could die with Ashara knowing he loved her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have deadlines so I think it will be two weeks before I post the next chapter. I'm past the worst of the workload but this is a temporary hurdle which is making writing diffcult


	105. Chapter 105: Aegon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have enabled comment moderation and reinstated anon comments. Just giving you guys a heads up.
> 
> It took me longer than I wanted to finish this but it is a long chapter so maybe that will compensate you? I had to change my mind about POV order because this really needed to come before the Winterfell chapter, it picks up where Chapter 104 left off

**Aegon**

 

Aegon would have made his own way back to Casterly Rock if there had been any alternative. He could not travel by horse even if there was a horse he could use. It would mean arriving weeks after his aunt. She looked upon him with mistrust now and Aegon cursed the raven from the North. If he had not learned of Arya’s betrothal he never would have behaved so recklessly.

 

_Genna Frey was not wrong._

 

Lady Genna had warned them but Aegon thought it to be trickery. He thought Freys and Lannisters likely to say anything they must to distract attention from their crimes. When he thought on the report from the North now, after raging, after weeping, after trying to kiss his aunt, he knew that somebody had sent it because they _wanted_ him to know. They wanted to ruin his alliance with Dany.

 

 _They got their wish_ , he thought bitterly.

 

He had instantly wanted to demand answers. He wanted to know why Arya broke her promise. He remembered Lord Wyman, the fool who laughed merrily and ate too much and spent extensive time in the privy and the thought of that man touching Arya made him want to spill blood. Arya refused Aegon’s proposals countless times. He did not understand why she agreed to Lord Wyman.

 

_It cannot be her wish to do this._

 

It had been very difficult to force himself to turn back to his aunt. Dany told him he must forget Arya and he had tried. Everything reminded him of her, even Dany herself. She dressed similarly, spoke similarly at times and if he closed his eyes when he held her he could almost pretend. He liked Dany. He thought he might have been able to love her if only he did not love Arya first.

 

_Dany won’t have me now._

 

He still needed to make peace with her. It was what Lord Connington wanted, it was what Westeros needed but he did not know how. _I do not want her and she knows it._ He had hurt her but Aegon did not understand her hurt, not really. Dany’s other suitors only wanted her dragons. Aegon was kin, he had been patient and he had shown that he was fond of her. It should not be so difficult for them to unite. Aegon had made allies all over Westeros.

 

_She is used to ruling and her advisors love me not._

 

Sleep eluded him at first. He hurt though not as much as the first time riding the dragon. For that he was thankful. It was his thoughts that kept him awake, thoughts of Dany and of dragons. He had dreamed of dragons less though it never truly stopped. It was much easier to pursue Dany, to think of claiming a dragon when he was not thinking of screaming and death. He hoped not to dream of dragons that night and this time he got his wish. Instead he dreamed of a woman.

 

At first he thought it was his aunt. The woman had Dany’s silvery gold hair and purple eyes but she did not look right. She was stern, unforgiving. When she spoke she changed, her hair and eyes darkening and a blade appearing in her hand, a blade a woman might carry. She slashed at him and Aegon raised his hand to his face. It came away coated in blood and he realised his scar had reopened.

                                                                                     

“You said you loved me,” she said bitterly. “You said you loved only me.”

 

Aegon was alarmed when she began to weep and then he knew it was Arya even though Arya never wept for him.

 

“I do,” he protested and reached for her with bloody hands. “You know why I am with Dany.”

 

She recoiled from him. “You said you would only _ever_ love _me_.”

 

When he tried to reach for her again he saw she had fangs and her snarl had him trying to escape. He woke with his heart pounding in his chest. The fear faded quickly to be replaced by guilt.

 

_I did not betray her, not truly._

Arya knew why he went West. She had urged him to think of his Aunt. Arya refused him, she would not bear a grudge, of that he felt certain. _I have no reason to feel guilty on account of her._ Telling himself so did not stop the dream from haunting him. He had to remember their quarrels, angry words telling him he was not her pack, not her family before he finally managed to wear himself out enough to sleep once more.

 

The old and almost toothless village elder greeted him warmly when he rose. The man remembered him from his previous stay, back before he was crowned king. There was food for him, a pitiful offering but the old man was very proud of it.

 

“To repay your kindness,” he explained, his breath whistling as he spoke.

_Arya’s kindness_ , Aegon knew, _not mine._ Aegon did not remember the man though he expected Arya would. They all mattered to Arya, even the dirty and old and seemingly useless ones. They were speaking of Arya now, a great gathering of them and Aegon tensed. Dany sat in the midst of them, scrawny children at her side looking up at her with wide eyes.

 

“Begging pardons,” an old crone said. “But she is our queen.”

 

“She turns into a wolf at night,” one of the children said in a hushed voice. “A big wolf, like her sigil.”

 

Aegon almost choked on his hard bread. The village elder began to scold the child.

 

“Don’t be telling those tales,” he said. “The wolf is her pet, no more.”

 

Aegon eyed Dany but she didn’t seem angry. She put her hand on the head of the girl who spoke, gently.

 

“You admire her?”

 

The girl nodded.

 

“She said I could be her friend. I was scared at first, but the big wolf does what she says.”

 

Dany reached for her cup and Aegon took a breath and began to chew again, slowly. He wanted to say something but anything he said might only make things worse after their quarrel so he kept silent.

 

“It is a direwolf?” Dany asked.

 

Aegon knew she already knew the answer. Tyrion spoke of the Starks and direwolves, everybody knew they each had a wolf, all but Lady Sansa. Dany knew the answers to most of the questions she was asking, Aegon had already told her. She wasn’t looking at him and the old man soon distracted him.

 

“We don’t have much,” he said. “Winter came before we could grow more.”

 

The man seemed to be waiting for a response so Aegon made himself smile.

 

“I have fond memories of your village,” he said. “I will remember this.”

 

When he met Dany outside she was different than she had been with the villagers. She was not hateful but Aegon could see the tension in the way she held herself. Drogon seemed rather less than welcoming too, snorting at his presence and showing huge, sharp teeth. Dany had to speak to the dragon sharply, wielding her whip and even then Aegon felt the resistance as he climbed onto the dragon’s back. It reminded him of the bond between Arya and Nymeria.

 

_Dany does not want me and her dragon feels the same._

 

It was awkward holding onto her. He felt some shame at his behaviour, even if it was mixed with anger. He still felt that Dany looked for a reason to reject him and he did not feel he deserved that. Their union would benefit them both. He brought allies, armies and a title and he knew women found him pleasant. He was not stupid enough though that he did not know he had wronged her.

 

_I should not have spoken of Arya._

 

He tried to mend things during the remainder of their travel. He wanted his aunt back, his only kin, even if he was not to wed her. He tried to tell her of places as they passed them but was not certain she heard. The wind blew most of his words away and Dany barely answered. He murmured another stiff apology as they approached the Rock and Drogon slowed enough for him to be heard.

 

“It is forgotten,” Dany said stiffly and Aegon knew she lied.

 

Rhaegal appeared beside them a few leagues from the Rock, calling out. Aegon did not know whether he called to Dany or to Drogon. They both answered him, Drogon with a roar and Dany speaking high valyrian in a crooning voice. He saw her head turning, looking for something.

 

“Viserion?”

 

Aegon tried to look too but gave up the attempt. Dany did not seem worried and his attention was focused on the green dragon who kept circling them and kept calling to them. It wasn’t until they began to descend that he realised something was truly wrong. He saw the banners and the crowd and thought it to be a welcome at first but then he saw his cousin and the spears. The Unsullied opposed them, their own spears in hand and Aegon felt a jolt of fear.

 

_Nym promised me she would not bring war._

 

Drogon hovered in the air, out of range of the spears. His wings made a deafening crack as they flapped to keep them aloft. He still heard Dany though.

 

“Where is Viserion? What have you done?”

 

He tightened his grip on her, angry at her suspecting him but afraid that she was not wrong, that one of his own had gone against his orders.

 

“I did nothing,” he told her. “I would never.”

 

He did not know if she heard him but a rider came to meet them, armoured but unthreatening. Aegon recognised Jorah Mormont. Drogon landed heavily and Aegon barely managed to climb to the ground before Dany, stumbling as he tried to regain his footing. His hand went to the pommel of his sword but Mormont did not spare him a glance.

 

“Khaleesi,” the knight’s voice was solemn. “I am sorry.”

 

Dany rounded on Aegon again.

 

“Where is Viserion?”

 

Aegon saw the confusion on Mormont’s face and breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“Tell us what has happened ser,” he urged. “Tell her I know as little as she does.”

 

Dany shook her head but Ser Jorah dismounted and extended his hand to her. She did not take it.

 

“He speaks the truth Daenerys. It was Victarion Greyjoy. He performed sorcery with the aid of the red priest Moqorro. He and Viserion are gone.”

 

Dany shook her head as though not believing him. Aegon scarcely believed it himself. _He does not have any dragon blood._ The thought of that man claiming a dragon when Aegon had not was galling. He had other problems to consider before dwelling on that, the spears were his immediate concern.

 

“Why have our people drawn their weapons? We are not enemies.”

 

Ser Jorah frowned at that but Aegon saw white cloaks approaching. Daemon Sand led and when he dismounted he took a knee.

 

“Your grace, we are gladdened by your safe return.”

 

The knight gave Daenerys a dark look. His Aunt was flushed with anger, distracted by the report of her missing dragon and did not notice.

 

“You did not need to fear for me,” he reassured Daemon. “Is Lady Asha still with us?”

 

The knight nodded. Dany was suddenly alongside Aegon.

 

“I must speak with her. She must answer my questions.”

 

Aegon did not like her _must_. Asha Greyjoy was a member of his council. He recalled her speaking of her uncle. He did not believe she betrayed him, she had promised and he held her brother in Winterfell. _Arya holds her brother in Winterfell_ , he reminded himself.

 

“We can question her together,” he told Dany.

 

His Aunt scarcely seemed to hear him. Aegon put his hand on her arm, making her look at him.

 

“I will do all I can to help you find him.”

 

Her expression softened for a heartbeat, but only a heartbeat.

 

“I will not need your help, though I thank you for the offer. Victarion will be sorry when I find him.”

 

Aegon heard Drogon roar and when he closed his eyes he pictured his dream, dragons flying at one another, tooth and claw and flame and he finally understood.

 

 _My dreams come true,_ Dany had said.

 

If she had seen it, then she knew too and she was wrong. People were going to die and Aegon could not stand idly by like some craven. He said nothing for now and mounted the horse Daemon brought him. For now they must enter the castle and find whatever answers they could.

 

*

 

The moment Aegon drew close he saw Nym running toward him, her dark hair flying as the wind whipped it. The Dornish protected her from the Unsullied spears, forming a wall between the two sides. Aegon knew there had been trouble from the ravens he received but he did not understand how it had gotten this bad. He dismounted and Nym embraced him fiercely, pressing a kiss to each cheek.

 

“I kept my word,” she whispered in his ear. “Whatever they tell you is a lie. Somebody else wished to provoke a quarrel.”

 

She still held him as she stepped back, looking him over until he gently scolded her.

 

“Enough of that cousin, I’m not harmed.”

 

He smiled for her. She did not smile back and Aegon knew she had been afraid, even if she was dressed for war. She wore ringmail and on her it looked odd. Aegon expected that from Obara, not Nym.

 

“You should have listened to me,” she warned him.

 

Aegon could not contain his glare. If she wished to point out her counsel about the dragons he would have allowed it but not in front of so many people. That was something to speak of behind closed doors.

 

“Do not test me Nym.”

 

She relented though he could still see the wilfulness in her expression.

 

“You will want to speak with Ashara. She was here when it happened.”

 

Aegon knew Dany was behind him now by the hardened expression on his cousin’s face. They approached the castle together and Aegon knew that Ser Jorah had told Dany more by the strain in her face. Lemore greeted them in the yard, wearing robes dyed black.

 

_It is a mark of mourning._

 

“Who?” he asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

 

“Barristan Selmy,” Nym answered in a clipped voice. “And Lysono Maar.”

 

Aegon liked the old knight but he felt the loss of Lysono more keenly. _He still served me, even after I wounded his pride by replacing him with Varys in Kings Landing._ Dany already knew, he saw that immediately. He wondered why she did not weep for Ser Barristan, he knew she must mourn him.

 

“Aegon,” Lemore’s voice was thick. “If only you returned sooner.”

 

He could see she wanted to embrace him as she had when he was a boy. He wanted to offer her comfort but it was not the time now. It would be improper. He took her hand instead when she offered it and he felt her tremble when he pressed his lips to it.

 

“I am returned now my lady.”

 

“Tell me where I may find Lady Asha,” Dany said, not unkindly.

 

“She is in the camps your grace,” Lemore said. “I told Ser Barristan he need not do it, I told him but he would not listen. He did not want to disappoint you.”

 

Dany blinked and Aegon was certain she was going to cry now but he was wrong.

 

“He served me well.”

 

She turned in the direction of the camps, even as the sky began to darken and Aegon moved quickly to lead the way.

 

*

 

“I am not _hiding_ in the camps.”

 

Asha Greyjoy was very indignant for one whose kin had stolen a dragon. She had taken a knee when they entered the tent but now she looked up at them with narrowed eyes.

 

“The castle was never welcoming to ironborn,” she said stiffly. “It only became worse in His Grace’s absence.”

 

“This is her tent,” Aegon offered.

 

Asha gave him a smile for that though Dany’s mouth tightened. Ser Brynden was there and the Blackfish looked protective. His presence was not helping.

 

“I warned them,” Asha told Dany. “Ask them. I tried to stop my nuncle. I have not wronged either of you. My people must not be punished for Victarion’s stupidity.”

 

For a moment she looked vulnerable. Her eyes seemed to plead with him and Aegon remembered what she told him so very long ago.

 

_I would have my mother see my brother once before she dies._

 

It was said in a flippant tone but Aegon was not fooled and he knew why she feared.

 

“If you speak truth then you have no cause to worry,” he reassured her.

 

“She does speak the truth, your grace.”

 

The Blackfish sounded gruff. Dany looked uncertain. Aegon could see she wanted to relent. If it had been any other charge, anything other than the loss of a dragon, he was certain she would have.

 

“Lysono reported Victarion’s obsession with the dragon,” Ser Brynden said in a grave voice. “Ser Barristan came to us, we told him but he already knew. If not for the other matters in the castle…”

 

Dany closed her eyes.

 

“He took my dragon because you were all arguing with one another.”

 

Ser Brynden flushed but he remained silent. Aegon knew the accusation chafed but he also supposed there was truth to it.

 

“Let Victarion bear the punishment,” Asha said bitterly. “You will find him wherever Euron is, perhaps at Pyke.”

 

Dany told her to rise and whirled to leave.

 

“That is what I shall do,” she said quietly, her anger still plain to see.

 

Aegon made to follow, not wanting to be left behind and to be in the dark as to his aunt’s plans.

 

“Stay, your grace,” Ser Brynden said quickly. “There is much we must speak of.”

 

His tone stopped Aegon in his tracks. He glanced at Lady Asha but she bowed her head and took her leave. Aegon sat and waited, fearful at Ser Brynden’s expression.

 

“Is it Arya? Is she hurt?”

 

Ser Brynden looked startled. His expression softened.

 

“She is not hurt.”

 

The answer was hesitant, almost faltering. Aegon remembered the raven from the North at Riverrun.

 

“I know of her betrothal.”

 

The Blackfish grimaced. Aegon could see his distaste toward the subject and it gave him courage to know it was not only him who disapproved.

 

“I cannot speak of it with you.”

 

Aegon opened his mouth to object then closed it. His mouth twisted at a sudden thought.

 

“She wrote you, did she forbid you to speak of it?”

 

Ser Brynden’s expression darkened.

 

“You are seeking your own betrothal. My niece is no longer your concern.”

 

Aegon flushed. He struggled to keep his temper. The Blackfish’s knuckles were white where he gripped the cup on the table and Aegon could see they would argue if he continued to press.

 

“I won’t wed my aunt,” he said petulantly. “She won’t have me.”

 

Ser Brynden exhaled. He always seemed so strong, so young still for his years but now he showed his age.

 

“I feared as much.”

 

Aegon did not know what that meant. He felt his annoyance growing.

 

“You were not there. You cannot know.”

 

Ser Brynden laughed.

 

“I did not need to be there.” He gave Aegon a sidelong look. “You never were very good at lying. It is something I liked about you from the first.”

 

Aegon waited but the Blackfish still did not offer him anything, not of the North.

 

“Somebody took the book. Tyrion Lannister has been determined to find it, all of Daenerys’ counsellors have searched and our people have done what they could.”

 

A chill ran down his spine.

 

“You did not tell me in your letters.”

 

Ser Brynden behaved as though he had not spoken.

 

“Lady Nym would have the one who took it dead.” He smiled a grim smile. “It took much effort to stop her from extracting a blood price. I gave you my counsel about the dragons.”

 

_I cannot hear this from him as well._

“It would have been our deaths if I did what you and Nym counsel.”

 

The Blackfish was unmoved.

 

“It may be our deaths no matter what course we take. Somebody wants to set you and Daenerys against one another. They appear to be succeeding.”

 

“They won’t,” Aegon insisted. “It is only a quarrel, my aunt has other enemies. She can see that now.”

 

“I hope you are right,” the old knight said wearily. “For all our sakes.”

 

*

 

Aegon spent the night in the camps. His army was melting away and while he knew it was inevitable with the length of time they had been there he also knew his absence had not helped. They needed to see him and to speak with him and Aegon met with them long into the night. When he rode for the Rock in the morning, weary from lack of sleep and his travels, his Aunt was already gone.

 

“She left with Drogon your grace,” Tyrion Lannister informed him.

 

Aegon knew he hid his disappointment poorly and Tyrion looked at him with mismatched eyes and a grotesque grin.

 

“Did you arrange the attempt at poisoning, your grace?” he asked. “Or was that a happy accident?”

 

If Nym had been there the dwarf would have been dead, no matter how many guards he had. Aegon was furious.

 

“I could have died my lord,” he said hotly. “If that brings you happiness I might question your loyalties.”

 

Tyrion seemed offended at that but Aegon remained suspicious. His own guards were tense, awaiting command but Tyrion waved a hand dismissively.

 

“I only observed that it has won you favour with fair Daenerys.” He grinned. “You may not have won her heart but she went to great pains to extract promises that you will not be harmed before she returns, unless you give cause.”

 

He said the last part so casually. Aegon did his best to try to sound as casual in his reply.

 

“What would give cause, may I ask?”

 

He eyed Aegon curiously.

 

“Oh, more of the same I expect. I am trying to find out who wants you dead so terribly much.”

 

Aegon frowned at that.

 

“You think they want me dead?”

 

Tyrion shrugged.

 

“You or Daenerys but if you were to oppose one another I do not see you avoiding a roasting by Drogon. This is why I say your protection of your lovely aunt from poisoning is fortunate given all that has passed while you were away. Don’t you agree?”

 

He was baiting Aegon, just as he had on _The Shy Maid._ Aegon wasn’t a boy any more though so he tried to keep his temper in check.

 

“Dany will see that I’m not the one she has to fear.” He hesitated for a moment before weakening. “You were looking for my book my lord.”

 

“I still am. Grey Worm thought he might locate it but he has been about as effective as nipples on a breastplate, not unlike your would-be poisoner it seems.”

 

Aegon scowled.

 

“Not everybody can be as successful with poison as you were my lord.”

 

Tyrion’s expression darkened at that.

 

“It is not successful if you almost get your head snicked off.”

 

“Perhaps, but you do at least still have your head.”

 

The dwarf gave a dark chuckle. Aegon moved to leave and Tyrion stood too. He seemed to be expecting something and Aegon remembered what he had been told in the night, of Tyrion making some attempts to cool tempers on both sides.

 

“I thank you for your efforts while I was gone,” he said stiffly

 

Tyrion studied him and Aegon knew the dwarf was holding things back.

 

“I am here to serve your grace,” he replied with a smile playing around his lips once more.

 

The little man was clever, Aegon would need to be clever too.

 

_He is not the only one who can keep secrets._

 

*

Grey Worm was a hard man to find. Aegon struggled to pick him from amongst the Unsullied guarding around the castle. The commander was not in his chambers, nor in any of the halls or meeting places. Aegon persisted, shedding his guards as he roamed between the castle and camps. He did not mean to, he just grew restless, stifled and he needed answers.

 

And then he saw him.

 

Grey Worm was in one of the unused chambers in a lower level of the Rock. He had the book in his hand and Aegon gave a wordless cry as the eunuch dropped it into the hearth. He darted forward, hoping to retrieve it but an arm shot out, strong, holding him back.

 

“These secrets were not meant to be told.”

 

He wanted to shout for his guards but they would not hear him.

 

“Let me go,” he commanded. “Let me go and mayhaps I will not have you killed.”

 

Grey Worm did not seem concerned with the threat.

 

“The book must be destroyed, then this one will let you go.”

 

Aegon watched, his struggle futile as the flames licked at the bindings. The cover blackened, the colours faded and Grey Worm still held him tightly. Aegon tried to reach for his sword and felt the point of a knife prick his throat, a slender blade drawn so quickly Aegon did not even see where it came from.

 

“This one does not want to kill you.”

 

Aegon tried to be still. He barely breathed for fear of the blade digging into his flesh. He had seen one like it before but that had not been wielded against him. Arya was just as quick when she drew hers out, just as deadly and precise but only against those who would harm those she cared for.

 

_She will be wroth when she hears of this._

 

“You will die for this,” he said when the book fell into charred, unreadable pieces and the blade moved enough that Aegon felt he could speak without being cut.

 

“Valar Morghulis,” was the reply.

 

Aegon swallowed, afraid but not wanting to show it. He had nobody to help him, no way to truly defend himself. He only had his wits and what little he knew of the faceless men to guide him and if he could not kill this man, he would at least try to find out what mission he had been given.

 

“Are you here for me or Dany?”

 

Grey Worm released him.

 

“This one serves Daenerys.”

 

It was no answer. Aegon knew Grey Worm served Dany, the response was one he might expect from any Unsullied but this man was not Unsullied, he was certain of that. He looked at the eunuch’s face, the eyes that weren’t right. _Grey Worm is dead._ Dany would grieve for her Unsullied commander, she trusted him, loved him.

 

“The book-“

 

“It was not meant for you,” the man with Grey Worm’s face replied. “It was not meant for others to see. A lesson has been learned.”

 

_He means Victarion._

“I kept it hidden,” Aegon snapped. “If you had not taken it none of this would have happened.”

 

The man did not confirm nor deny taking it. He did not seem to care that Aegon accused him.

 

“Somebody always tells. Another lesson must be given.”

 

Aegon did not know what he meant. The man turned, moving to leave him there and he tried to follow. The knife flashed quickly again, threateningly.

 

“You said you did not want to kill me,” he said quickly.

 

“This one does not need to kill.”

 

Aegon raised his hands, thinking again about whether he might reach his sword and knowing he couldn’t, knowing he could never be quick enough.

 

“If you hurt me you will die an even worse death.”

 

A smile flitted over the man’s features.

 

“This one will die but not yet.”

 

He was talking in riddles. It was maddening.

 

“The lesson, tell me,” Aegon demanded, needing to know what the threat meant.

 

The man studied him and Aegon doubted he would get any answer but he was wrong.

 

“Magics are not trifles. There is a cost, a sacrifice to be made. The gods demand it.”

 

Aegon hated himself for his fear but he hated himself more for being useless.

 

“Don’t hurt Arya,” he blurted. “She only wanted to help me.”

 

The man looked at him pitilessly and left him there, his departure so quick that Aegon had no hope of stopping him even if he had made the attempt.

 

*

 

They thought him mad when he emerged and told them about Grey Worm. Ashara looked fearful and began murmuring prayers. Tyrion made him repeat himself more than once, weighing his answers with an expression as though he were solving a puzzle. Benerro left to consult his flames and Ser Jorah just watched on with a black expression. Marwyn was the only one who seemed to believe him.

 

“If they wanted Daenerys dead she would be dead,” the archmaester said bluntly.

 

Aegon wanted Brynden Tully, he wanted to send a raven North, to warn them but he could not tell them that. Arya was already in danger on account of him.

 

_These secrets were not meant to be told._

 

“I saw Grey Worm,” Ser Jorah finally said. “He was leaving the castle, headed to feed the dragon. Lady Nym was with him. I did think it odd how close they suddenly appeared to be.”

 

_Magics are not trifles. A sacrifice must be made._

 

Aegon quickly realised Brynden Tully would be of no help.

 

“It’s Rhaegal,” he blurted.

 

They tried to stop him but his kingsguard were sworn to obey. Ashara was by his side, pleading with him to change his mind but Aegon hurried, hurried to the surface, to swing into the saddle of one of the waiting horses and to try to catch them. Tyrion Lannister tried to keep up, cursing behind him.

 

The spears were already gathered, Unsulled and Dornish. The Unsullied were divided.

 

“Do not harm him,” Aegon shouted.

 

The Dornish were divided too upon hearing him. Nym wasn’t listening though. Aegon urged his horse on to meet her.

 

“Nym I told you no.”

 

She spun around to face him as he approached.

 

“We will never be safe,” she said. “I do this for you cousin.”

 

The sky darkened and Aegon heard the dragon wings. Nym gave a signal and crossbow bolts were unleashed, joining with the spears as the Dornish began their attack. Rhaegal shrieked and twisted in the air, landing awkwardly. Most seemed to bounce off him rather harmlessly but from the way he landed Aegon knew something had struck him.

 

_Dany will kill us all if the dragon dies, even if I am kin._

Tyrion was saying as much as they both dismounted from their horses.

 

“You Fools,” the little man shouted. “You have no idea of what you are doing.”

 

So much was happening, too much and Aegon froze. He had not frozen since he was a boy back on the _Shy Maid. Tyrion was there then too_ , he remembered. He could not think, could not act as he saw the dragon lurch one way, then another, the air heated from his misdirected flame. A hand pressed at his back, prompting him to step forward.

 

“Stop this madness,” the dwarf said, his voice clear and cutting through the mayhem around them. Aegon looked at him dumbly and Tyrion nodded and gestured. Aegon did not understand how he could be so calm. His gaze followed in the direction Tyrion pointed, to Rhaegal.

 

A spear pierced the dragon's wing, not from the Dornish but the Unsullied. Blood steamed from a wound on Rhaegal’s chest and then the dragon seemed to stare at Aegon, his bronze eyes knowing.

 

“You are the only one who can,” Tyrion urged from his side.

 

Aegon began to run, ignoring Nym’s scream.

 

He stumbled on the way, falling to his knees but he got up. He suddenly realised he had no whip. His leg hurt and when he looked down it was bleeding. When he looked up again Rhaegal was closer, roaring and Aegon knew he had been stupid, knew that he was likely to die but it was too late. He wondered for a moment if that was what Tyrion wanted after all but he kept moving toward the dragon, trusting that Nym would not hurt him, that the Dornish would not hurt him if he was between them and the dragon.

 

“Rhaegal,” he called, his mouth feeling so dry that his tongue barely seemed to work.

 

Rhaegal looked at him again, smoke rising from his nostrils. He stretched out his wings. The tear was small but the wings still seemed rather fragile for such a tremendous beast.

 

“Rhaegal.”

 

This time his voice carried better. The dragon knew his name, much as Viserion did. He made a sound, the sound Drogon made when he greeted Dany. _I look like her._ He tried to remember the words she used, speaking in high valyrian and moved closer, and closer. When he was alongside the dragon he could see that the gathered people were waiting for the chance to attack again.

 

He took the final few steps, vaulting onto Rhaegal’s back. The dragon was smaller than Drogon, easier to climb onto but not trained. He did not like Aegon on his back and he twisted, almost enough to dislodge him. Aegon gripped tightly with his legs, hearing Nym screaming still and fainter in the distance, Ashara could be heard screaming too. His leg hurt and his grip slipped a little as the blood ran onto the dragon’s scales but Rhaegal stilled, just for a moment and that was all Aegon needed.

 

“Sōvegon,” he shouted.

 

Rhaegal tilted his head and stretched his wings again. They cracked in the air, more on one side than the other, making him worry a little about the tear. They had to move though, to be clear of the spears and crossbow bolts and Aegon shouted the command to fly again.  He felt the muscles gathering under him as the dragon prepared to take flight.

 

_Gods, please let this work._

His prayer was answered as Rhaegal pushed off, wings buffeting the wind around them and Aegon clung on, still afraid but at the same time excited because the green scales felt warm under his hand and even if the dragon was wild and was only half listening to him, that feeling was the best part of his dreams, the familiar part.

 

_This was meant to be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to give myself two weeks to write the next chapter because I have one final work deadline for the year. By the time I post the next one I expect I'll be on my break and I'll have more time for fic.
> 
> The next one will be the Winterfell one (Sansa's POV)


	106. Chapter 106: Sansa and Arya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late because a) I fried my laptop by spilling a cup of tea over it and b) it is so hot here that my brain works slower than I want it to. Good news though, the dissertation is done and gone and now I'm only waiting on paperwork to be processed. I'm on holidays for a couple of weeks too. This ended up being a long chapter again with three pov's (two from Sansa, one from Arya) so that will hopefully compensate a bit for the wait. Happy holidays to all of you <3

**Chapter 106: Sansa & Arya**

 

**Sansa**

 

Winterfell was not at all as Sansa remembered it.

 

It was not just from the burning, the people were not the same. The memories were bittersweet as she walked along the paths. She used to walk these same paths with Jeyne Poole, her friend. It hurt to think of Jeyne now that she knew. The people in the castle spoke of Jeyne with anger, even if it was mixed with pity.

 

_I pretended to be somebody else too._

 

As Alayne Sansa had taken a place in the Vale that wasn’t hers, though it wasn’t truly the same. _She still did not deserve what happened to her._ Nobody deserved Ramsay Bolton. Sansa hoped Jeyne was happier now, wherever she was. The Lannisters could do no more to Jeyne now.

 

_That is two marriages to steal Winterfell._

 

Sansa could not help but think of Tyrion. She had heard he was at Casterly Rock. He might have been kind to her but Sansa lived in dread of him sending for her. She did not know what she might do if he did. The North men would not heed him, she felt certain of that but Sansa swore the vows. She might have been forced to but she still said them.

 

“I am a Stark,” she whispered. “This is my place.”

 

The black direwolf appeared beside her. Rickon was breathless when he caught up. Sansa donned a smile for her brother, even if she did not feel it. Seeing the wolves hurt more than anything else in this place. She did not need Arya to remind her that it was Joffrey, that Cersei was the one who commanded Lady be killed. Sansa knew, she knew but it did not lessen the pain of losing her wolf and it did not change the way people looked at her when she joined her siblings at the high table, the only one without a living, breathing reminder of their sigil.

 

Rickon sensed more than she might have expected from her young brother, a boy who barely knew her.

 

“You can borrow Shaggy. He’ll protect us both.”

 

The offer brought tears to her eyes. He was younger than Sweetrobin had been but so much fiercer and he had a breathless laugh that made Sansa want to laugh too, even if she had no real cause to laugh.

 

“That is very kind.”

 

Rickon blinked at her, big blue eyes just like hers but innocent. Sansa used to be innocent too.

 

“Are you going to the godswood?”

 

Sansa hesitated, her throat constricting at the thought. She shook her head. A raven landed before them, shrieked, and looked right at her.

 

“Sansa.”

 

Rickon took her hand as she stared.

 

“Bran wants to see you. He is our brother. You don’t need to be scared.”

 

“I’m not scared,” Sansa lied.

 

Wargs and skinchangers were evil, all the stories said so. It had been so comforting when Tyrion told her that the stories about Robb were lies. Now the stories were told about Rickon, and even wilder tales were told about Arya. The wildest of all were the things Bran could do only nobody knew it was Bran, not yet. It wasn’t right, Sansa could not accept it, she wouldn’t... but it wasn’t going away.

 

_It’s Bran._

 

She remembered him climbing, back before he fell. She remembered his smile, and the way he would share his lemon cakes with her. Bran couldn’t be evil, he couldn’t be, and if he was....

 

_He is my brother._

 

She let Rickon lead her. When they reached the heart tree they were not alone. Arya was there and she quickly rubbed at her eyes but her face was stained with tears. She rose quickly, bowed her head and called to Nymeria. The wolf appeared almost from nowhere and Arya sniffed and pushed her tangled hair back behind her ears. It was uncombed and unbraided.

 

_She no longer wears her crown._

 

“I’ll let you talk to him,” she said in a strained voice. “He has been waiting for you.”

 

Sansa might have told her she did not have to leave but she felt there was an accusation there and so she did not answer.

 

“I missed you,” Bran whispered. “I am glad you are home.”

 

Sansa suddenly realised Rickon was gone too. Only his wolf remained. She made herself look at the tree.

 

“Where are you Bran?” she whispered. “You should be here with us, you’re not meant to be...”

 

She did not know how to say it. Her hands were trembling and she clasped them together.

 

“I don’t want to be here.” Bran sounded miserable. “If I don’t, people will die. I have to see, I have to fly, or the Others will win.”

 

The Others weren’t real. Sansa had heard Arya speak of them, and Rickon too. The Northmen did not believe they were real, they couldn’t be. They were only a story, made up to scare people.

 

 _Wargs and skinchangers were only stories too,_ she realised.

 

“People are dying anyway,” she said. “You cannot save them all, that is for...”

 

She was going to say the heroes from the songs, the knights in the tales but then she remembered how Bran always wanted to be a knight, and saying that seemed far too cruel.

 

“You cannot watch everybody,” she said instead, remembering her fear in the godswood at the Gates of the Moon. “What is it that you see?”

 

She held her breath, afraid that he knew what she had done, afraid he knew about Robert Arryn.

 

“I see those long gone,” Bran whispered. “There is much to be learned from history. That is how I know what I must do.”

 

The tree almost seemed to weep and Sansa realised she had moved closer, that she was no longer so frightened.   _Bran is still my brother. He still wants to be a knight._ Sansa could tell him things of knights but he would not want to hear them, not if he still believed in the stories.

 

_There are true knights still. They are just hard to find._

 

“Come home,” she pleaded. “Arya isn’t meant to be queen.”

 

“You need each other,” Bran whispered. “I won’t be able to be here much longer, it isn’t safe.”

 

He seemed to be getting quieter, pulling away from her and Sansa reached out to the tree.

 

“You are a Stark, winter is here and we all must play our part. I hope to see you again Sansa.”

 

Her hand clutched at the bark.

 

“What is my part,” she said helplessly. “I don’t understand.”

 

The only answer was the wind blowing through the leaves. Bran was gone.

 

*

 

The Northmen might not have believed in the Others but many still readied themselves to go North. Rickon was sulking. Arya had said he could not go with them. Sansa found him sitting on a bench by the training yard.

 

“I’m staying here too,” she told him.

 

“That’s different,” he said sullenly. “You _want_ to stay here. The Skagosi came to _me_ , not Arya. _I_ should go North with them. I don’t _want_ to be the Stark in Winterfell again.”

 

He fidgeted every time he spoke of the North and Sansa could tell he was scared.

 

“Arya will come back.”

 

He gave her a cold look, for a moment looking more like Arya despite his Tully colouring.

 

“You don’t know that. You weren’t here when they all left. You weren’t here when Arya left before. I stayed behind and all I got was letters and people telling me she wasn’t hurt, even when she was.”

 

That stung though Sansa hid her reaction. _I wanted to be here._ Gravel crunched behind her.

 

“Your sister still returned safely my lord. Lady Sansa has the truth of it.”

 

Sansa turned, grateful to greet Lady Brienne. It was difficult to look upon the lady knight with her ruined face. Sansa chose to focus on her eyes. Brienne had such beautiful blue eyes, even if the rest of her was not beautiful. Sansa had to find beauty in her. Lady Brienne was one of the few friends she had found in Winterfell.

 

_She will be leaving too._

 

Sansa knew Winterfell was about to become a very difficult place. Those left behind were remaining for a reason, and it would be a mess of scheming and plotting for power. Sansa did not want to play the game but she suspected her lessons would get some use.

 

_Mayhaps this is what Bran meant._

 

“Lord Rickon is very brave to want to join the fight,” Brienne said. “But he is only a boy.”

 

It was a misstep and Sansa knew it instantly. She heard Rickon become indignant, heard the scrape of steel being drawn from a scabbard.

 

“I have my sword,” he protested loudly.

 

Sansa started as a familiar figure stepped between them.

 

“You might have a sword,” Clegane rasped, “but not the sense to know when to draw one.”

 

Sansa tensed. Brienne and Sandor did not like one another. Right now however they seemed to be on the same side.

 

“Put that away my lord,” Brienne said firmly. “Duck taught you better than that.”

 

Rickon’s face crumpled as he did what Brienne asked. Sansa had not known Rolly Duckfield but her brother had clearly been fond of him. The mere mention of the name made him cry, even if he did manage to contain it to a few tears.

 

“I’m sorry. I just don’t want to be left behind.” He knuckled away the tears and sniffled. “Can’t Sansa be the Stark in Winterfell?”

 

There was an uncomfortable silence. Sansa crouched before her brother.

 

“I need you here Rickon,” she said. “If you leave me alone they’ll make me marry somebody. I might be wedded to a Ryswell when you return.”

 

Rickon looked at her with wide eyes and Sansa hoped he would not think of Tyrion and how Sansa was already married. Most did not mention it

 

“I _hate_ Lord Ryswell.”

 

_I know you do._

 

Rickon had not taken Arya’s betrothal well and he liked Lord Manderly. _Rickon blames Lord Wyman for her leaving._ Sansa knew that had to be a big part of why her sister was in such a hurry to go.

 

Rickon took Sansa’s hand.

 

“I won’t let Lord Ryswell have you. I’ll stay.”

 

Sansa hugged him and Rickon held on tightly.

 

“You are a good brother,” she said softly.

 

He blinked at her when she let go but she could see he was still unhappy.

 

“Shaggy,” he commanded sharply. “Come.”

 

Sansa had not known the wolf was close but he appeared suddenly, green eyes narrowed.

Sandor remained very still as the wolf sniffed him.

 

“You are needed in the hall my lord,” Brienne told him gently.

 

Rickon obeyed, leaving quietly with Brienne and Sansa did not miss the gratitude on Brienne’s face as she looked back and their eyes met.

 

_A lie kindly meant does no harm._

 

**Arya**

 

Her hair was all tangled again. Cara came at her with the comb but Arya wouldn’t have it.

 

“The feast-“

 

Arya closed her eyes.

 

“I know Cara. I’ll be ready by then.”

 

Her friend looked doubtful. A soft woollen tunic was set out with an overtunic beside it to keep her warm. She wouldn’t wear a gown. If she started wearing gowns for Lord Manderly now he would expect her to keep wearing them, even if he did make promises.

 

She picked up the looking glass. Her dark eyes looked tired, with dark shadows underneath. Her face was thin, making it seem even longer. Her hair was the worst part, dull, mousy, lustreless. If she hadn’t been a Stark Lord Wyman wouldn’t want her. Nobody would have wanted her if not for that.

 

_Aegon wanted me._

 

She stuck her fingers in one of the tangles, trying to separate the strands. Aegon was the only person who had ever loved her hair. Jon used to mess her hair, but that wasn’t quite the same. Aegon used to touch it, and he would play with it. If he saw it like this he would have just smiled and made a jape about what she had done for it to be so tangled. She managed to pry one bit apart but the rest was just as bad.

 

“I’ll help,” Cara said softly.

 

“I can fix it,” Arya said, holding her hand up to ward off the comb once more.

 

The only time Arya cared about if her hair was tangled was when Aegon wanted to run his fingers through it.

 

_Aegon won’t ever be doing that again._

 

She reached for her knife and Cara cried out but Arya ignored her as she began to cut. It was uneven when she finished, with some reaching her collar and some a little longer. Arya put her hand out for the comb and Cara gave it to her wordlessly, her eyes as round as eggs. She shivered a little as the cold got into her neck.

 

“Nobody will really care Cara.”

 

Cara bit her lip and did not answer.

 

It didn’t matter now if it was short. It was better that it was short. Arya wouldn’t need it braided and she wouldn’t need to brush it so much. Jon could still mess it even if it was short. Arya wanted to see him so badly. She wished she were leaving on the morrow. She did not want to wait even a few more days while the men were packing supplies.

 

_I should have gone to the Wall before Winterfell._

 

Then she would not be betrothed. She remembered Rickon and felt guilty. _I promised him I’d come back._ Her shoulders dropped as she discarded the comb, knowing this would always have happened. Arya missed Jon but he was not her only brother. Rickon was angry with her again and this time she thought he might have good reason. The Skagosi were his friends first and they had reported to him. They wanted him to come North and help them fight.

 

_He is needed here._

 

The men who were staying behind were some who grumbled loudest about Sansa being wed to Tyrion. Sansa didn’t help, whenever she heard Tyrion’s name she got a strange look. She didn’t hate him, not like she hated Cersei and Arya wondered what the marriage had been like. _Sansa doesn’t love her husband._ She still seemed to want to protect him, even though she’d been forced to marry him.

 

_He married her for Winterfell, just like Lord Wyman._

 

Arya was angry, but she was as angry with herself as anybody else. Sansa knew what Lord Wyman was going to do. Arya could tell because her sister wasn’t surprised at all when it was announced. Haldon knew too and Arya _should_ have known. She was trained to know these things but she had been so focused on everything else that she did not think of Lord Wyman wanting to marry her, not _him_. He had been a friend and he had helped and she knew he wanted _something_. She just never thought it might be _her_.

 

_He asked for Rickon before._

 

It was before she left for the Twins, before she left for the Dreadfort. Rickon did not want to be married and Arya had refused to give into those who wanted him to marry their daughters and granddaughters. He was too young, and still too young now. Saying no was right but Arya knew if she’d said yes it would all be different. She couldn’t do it to him though. It wasn’t fair.

 

The door creaked open and her little brother poked his head in.

 

“Arya?”

 

He still looked sullen but when he saw her his eyes widened.

 

“Do you want to sit with me?” she asked him.

 

Rickon seemed to have forgotten he was angry for the moment. He was at her side quickly and he touched the pile of discarded hair.

 

“Did you do it because of Lord Wyman?”

 

Arya didn’t scowl, even though it took an effort.

 

“I did it because I wanted to. It got too long.”

 

Rickon reached up to touch her hair. He didn’t mess it like Jon but the gentle gesture made her blink quickly to stop tears forming.

 

“I still want to go with you.”

 

Arya cupped his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead quickly, before he could protest.

 

“I wish you could come too little wolf.”

 

He looked solemn, even if he did wipe at his forehead.

 

“Sansa needs me here.”

 

Arya didn’t know what to say to that. She was just grateful he wasn’t scowling at her anymore. He put his hand on her arm.

 

“I don’t want to go to the feast Arya.”

 

_I don’t want to either._

 

It was a formal celebration of the betrothal. White Harbour had been sending wagons for days. Winterfell had more food now than it had had in moons. It had gotten so absurd Arya had started directing some to the Winter town, to the people who really needed it.

 

“We are expected,” she told him softly, keeping her face a mask.

 

“I know you don’t want to go,” he said.

 

Arya sighed. Rickon wasn’t stupid. Of course he knew she didn’t want it.

 

“Do you remember what I told you before I left last time? We all have to things we don’t want to.”

 

Arya reached for nearby parchment, hoping to change the subject. “Our uncle Brynden sent a raven.”

 

Rickon looked uncertain but he leaned closer to read as Arya smoothed out the parchment. Arya had already read it. It was an affectionate letter. She could see Uncle Brynden smiling and saying the words, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He hoped she had found peace, that she and Rickon and Sansa were able to make a home at Winterfell once more. He did not mention Aegon by name, but he told of Riverrun falling to the dragon, and of his hope to return to the castle and be able to invite them to visit.

 

“Does he know you are to be married?” Rickon asked.

 

“I told him,” Arya said. “This raven came before he would have received mine.”

 

Arya wondered what her uncle was keeping from her. There was so much he wasn’t saying. He didn’t say whether Aegon and Daenerys were allies, he didn’t say if they were married, or whether they were going to be. Arya wondered if Aegon had a dragon, and whether that was why her uncle said Riverrun fell to a dragon, or whether he just meant dragon the way Aegon used the word. Aegon called himself a dragon just like Arya called herself a wolf.

 

_Uncle Brynden barely told me anything._

 

Rickon didn’t notice.

 

“I’m going to get ready for the feast now,” she told him. “I’ll see you there.”

 

He looked like he wasn’t going to leave for a moment but when Arya looked like she might start undressing he began to move, though he still hesitated.

 

“Lord Wyman is going to hurt you if you share a bed with him,” he said. “He’ll crush you.”

 

Arya tried very hard not to laugh at his innocence. The idea of sharing a bed with Wyman Manderly did not amuse her at all, but Rickon’s concern made her snort.

 

“He won’t crush me,” she reassured him.

 

Rickon did not look convinced.

 

_I’ll never have Wyman Manderly on top of me, even if I am forced to say vows._

 

“He won’t,” she insisted. “Go and make yourself look lordly.”

 

He finally left and Arya quickly got dressed. Cara had disappeared shortly after Rickon arrived, but she returned before Arya began to make her way to the great hall. She still darted a nervous glance at Arya’s hair.

 

“Lord Wyman is very old your grace,” she whispered, barely loudly enough to be heard. “Mayhaps it will not be for long.”

 

Arya took Cara’s hand and squeezed.

 

“I do not wish him ill.”

 

_I just do not want to marry him._

 

The hall was filling when she entered and the people looked at her. Many stared but Arya just kept walking. Nymeria was waiting by her seat at the high table and Arya kept moving, making her way towards the direwolf.

 

_I only need to get through the next few days._

 

Then she would be on her way to the Wall, and to Jon. He would make her feel better. He always made her feel better.

 

**Sansa**

 

Sansa needed to dress for the feast but an unopened letter caught her eye. It had the Waynwood seal and her hands shook as she opened it.

 

_Lady Sansa,_

_We have known each other for some time so you will forgive me being so forward. Lord Petyr told me of your true name only days before Ser Jaime’s unfortunate visit. I was wroth with him for his lies, even if I do understand the need for secrecy. Others were less understanding but the wedding was to be a glad occasion with the joining of two Great Houses. If only you had remained here._

_Harry asks for you, often by the name Alayne. The clansmen still trouble us. It is unknown how they came to be so well armed. Harry’s wound tried to fester but the maester is doing what he can. Bronze Yohn blames Lord Littlefinger but with Baelish holding the keys to the granaries there is little he can do. Lord Petyr is the difference between starving or not._

_Would that you were here. You always had a way with him._

_Anya Waynwood_

 

Sansa did not need to be in the Vale to imagine what it was like. Petyr had bought up so much debt, he owned the granaries and he controlled the ports and he had made so many in Gulltown his as well as half the Vale lords who would suffer great embarrassment if he were to fall and their secrets were to be revealed.

 

She felt guilt over Harry though she did not doubt he called for Saffron as much as her. He had never forgotten the merchant’s daughter. She must be close to birthing another bastard by now.  Sansa felt guilt over the clansmen too. It did not matter what Ser Jaime said, the war began with her escape.

 

_They found out who I was._

 

Sansa might have stayed, though she did not want to wed Harry. The Northmen never called her a kingslayer. It would have been different in the Vale.

 

_You always had a way with him._

 

Alayne managed to intervene with Petyr, sometimes. Sansa was not sure _she_ could. He had taught her, yes, but she was not certain she could outwit him. He was always the cleverest man in the room by far. He always knew how to make people do what he wanted, whose ear to whisper into.

 

_Did he whisper in Lady Anya’s ear? Is that why she sent this?_

 

Sansa set the parchment aside. It troubled her but she had to attend the feast. Sansa thought about speaking to Arya at dinner. Her sister had seemed eager to speak with her, smiling even before Lord Wyman’s proposal.  She had not truly smiled since. Sansa knew what Lord Wyman intended before he asked. She thought Arya knew too. Her sister seemed to know everything else. Lord Wyman gave so much to Winterfell. Nobody gave so much without wanting something.

 

_He wants Winterfell._

 

Marrying Arya would give him Winterfell, for a time. Lord Wyman would not rule in his own name but Sansa knew the Lady Alysane would not keep her position if Arya had a husband. People only accepted her as castellan because Rickon was a boy and Arya had been away and unwed and with Arya going away again her betrothed would be the natural choice.

 

It reminded Sansa of the Lannisters but she was not sure that was fair. Lord Wyman spoke gently to her. He was kinder than most in Winterfell. They all loved Arya, all of them. They called her Lady Stark but Sansa was not Lady Stark, not anymore. They did not call her Lady Lannister at least but she was only ever Lady Sansa or princess when it suited them to use the title.

 

_Arya is queen, even when she doesn’t want to be, even when she says the crown isn’t hers._

 

She put that aside though, knowing her sister was terribly unhappy. This was something Sansa understood, even though her wedding was forced on her when surrounded by enemies. _Arya is surrounded by friends._ It seemed odd that the outcome might be the same.

 

She had her hair brushed out until it shone, and chose a gown of grey with white trim. It was Stark colours, an attempt to remind everybody who she was no matter that she wed a Lannister. When she entered the hall though, few eyes were on her. Instead the whispers were of Arya. Sansa held back her gasp.

 

“It grew too long,” Arya was saying in a voice which sounded rather too calm. “It won’t trouble me now when I ride, or when the wind catches it.”

 

She had taken a knife to her hair. It was short, uneven in places. Her clothes were wrong too, woollen men’s clothes like those she might wear during the day but not at dinner. She smiled but it did not reach her eyes. Her eyes were miserable. Sansa could not talk to her like this. This Arya was somebody she could not understand. The Arya who wore a gown to dinner, who had become graceful and remembered her courtesies was a woman Sansa could speak to. It was that sister she meant to reach out to.

 

_He is old. You won’t be wed to him for long._

 

_He might not want you to bear his children, he already has his heirs._

 

_He is kind at least.  It might not be so bad._

 

All of the things she planned to say weren’t right now. Sansa took her seat with Arya, trying to hide her confusion.

 

“Lord Wyman does not care about my hair.”

 

Arya said it softly, with only a hint of defiance. She was not wrong. Lord Wyman only smiled good naturedly and he laughed though Sansa could see that he was not entirely pleased.

 

_She may as well have shouted that she does not want to marry him._

 

The serving people began to bring out the food and the people turned their focus to that instead. Lord Wyman had been very generous.

 

Arya ate quietly, only speaking when spoken to and then it was far more to the common man at the table. He was one of the servants, a baker in the kitchen. The dinner was meant to be a formal celebration of the betrothal, even if the agreement had been made some time ago. Lord Wyman spoke far more with Rickon than his betrothed, and even Sansa shared more words with him than her sister did.

 

She and Arya left the hall together, and it was then that the silence broke.

 

“It was hardly necessary to ruin your hair, you’re leaving so soon sends enough of a message that you wish to escape the marriage.”

 

Arya flinched. It was barely noticeable but Sansa saw it.

 

“That is not why I’m leaving,” Arya hissed. “Anyways, my hair is the same as it always was, just shorter.”

 

Arya was angry with her. She did not scowl, or shout but her eyes were hard and she seemed hurt. _We always argue._ Sansa knew her sister was upset, she remembered Arya’s tears in the godswood. _She doesn’t want Lord Wyman._ Sansa did not blame her for that. She expected her sister mourned the loss of Aegon too. She never spoke of him but Sansa knew enough.

 

_She cares, even if she pretends she doesn’t._

 

“It isn’t the same,” Sansa started to say, to explain because Arya wasn’t seeming to understand the impression she gave to others. It wasn’t just hair.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Arya snapped. “It isn’t like my hair was ever pretty like yours.”

 

Sansa gaped at her. Arya lowered her eyes, blinking quickly.

 

“If you brushed it more it would be-“

 

That seemed to make it worse. Arya took a step backwards and her face contorted.

 

“A brush is not going to change anything.”

 

Arya was trying not to cry. Her face showed little now but Sansa could see the unshed tears shining on her lashes. She tried to reach out but Arya evaded her.

 

“Jon won’t care what I look like,” she said. “ _He_ loves me no matter what.”

 

 _Is she saying I don’t?_ The thought made Sansa uncomfortable. She reached out to Arya once more, a final attempt and this time Arya did not pull away when Sansa touched her arm. Her hair was shorter at the front and Sansa resisted the urge to smooth it a little where the wind began to catch it. She did not think Arya would let her.

 

“It isn’t ugly,” she said. “That is not what I meant.”

 

Arya sighed. _She doesn’t believe me._ The silence lingered and Sansa did not know what else to say. She did not know how to stop Arya from hurting.

 

“Lord Wyman doesn’t love me,” Arya whispered. “He never will. He only wants influence.”

 

 _This_ Sansa understood. She remembered her own fears at her marriage and all the plots to have her wed for her claim.

 

“I understand why you want to go,” she said softly. “I wished to run too.”

 

Arya’s eyes softened but her mouth set in a firm line.

 

“I’m not running,” she insisted. “Jon needs me and Bran said-“

 

“I know what Bran is saying,“ Sansa said. “He should be here, with us. The Wall is for the Night’s Watch, the Wall protects us if- if they are out there.”

 

Arya’s eyes narrowed.

 

“You don’t believe our brother.”

 

It was all going wrong. _Why do we always fight about lies and truth._ Arya had been angry when Sansa said she lied in the godswood, and there was always the Trident, always.

 

“I don’t think Bran is lying.”

 

Arya was silent but they had reached the point where they had to part ways to go to their chambers. Sansa hesitated.

 

“It will be cold.”

 

The corners of Arya’s mouth twitched.

 

“I’ll wear furs. If Jon can manage, I’ll survive.”

 

Arya muttered something about sleep and turned on her heel. Sansa left it and turned to go to her own bed.

 

*

 

Sansa stood in the yard. There were so many men. She knew there would be a lot, but seeing them mounted and joining the march, she could barely recognise faces in the crowd. The wolves were the only sign of where Rickon and Arya were. Rickon was with the Skagosi, speaking in the Old Tongue. Arya was near where the Stark banner flew.

 

Sansa gave Lady Brienne a warm farewell.

 

“Lord Rickon will need further lessons in arms,” the lady knight said. “He will not wish to wait for my return.”

 

“I will see to it,” Sansa reassured her.

 

Arya returned to the yard briefly.

 

“See that Rickon does his duty,” she said. “Don’t let them treat you as less. You’re one of us.”

 

Sansa was startled. She smiled. Arya smiled back but her eyes were still sad.

 

“Be safe,” Sansa told her. “I could not bear it if harm befell you…”

 

She almost said _again_. Arya looked startled, just for a moment. She gave Sansa an awkward hug and left to join the men again. Sansa watched them riding out the gates. Rickon joined her.

 

“Nothing can hurt us here,” she told him.

 

Rickon looked doubtful.

 

“It wasn’t safe before.”

 

It was true. Every time Sansa saw Theon in the castle she stiffened. He was broken now, almost beyond repair after what Ramsay Snow had done to him. Every time he saw Arya he trembled.

 

“It will be now,” she promised though she wasn’t sure whether she said it more for him or for herself.

 

She rested her hand on his shoulder. Rickon stood, watching out the gates. Then he joined the sentry, getting as high as he could in hopes of seeing Arya for longer. Sansa watched him then turned to walk back towards the castle.

 

“The little bird sings her own songs now.  Still lies, though.”

 

Sansa startled but only for an instant. Clegane grimaced.

 

“I still frighten you.”

 

“No,” she said quickly. “I thought I was alone.”

 

His mouth twitched.

 

“You’ll never be alone here. Even the bloody trees seem to have ears.”

 

Sansa hid her reaction to that but not well enough. Sandor gave her a queer look but Sansa knew he did not know. Nobody knew except Arya and Rickon and Sansa.

 

“Every place has its ears,” she said, thinking of King’s Landing.

 

“Baelish and the Spider,” Sandor muttered.

 

Sansa did not want to speak of Petyr. She remembered what she had heard of the attack in the Riverlands, of Gregor Clegane and Sandor fighting and how it ended. Sansa wasn’t certain how much of it she believed, with the tales of sorcery but there had to be some truth to it. The first time she spoke with Sandor, really spoke with him, he told her about Gregor and what he had done, of how he had tried to kill Sandor as a boy.

 

_He said he wanted to kill Gregor._

 

“You saved Arya,” she said. “It must have been dreadful seeing him-seeing that.”

 

She did not know how else to say it and wasn’t sure at first he understood. He gave her a very long look.

 

“That wasn’t my brother. The Dornishman killed my brother.”

 

Sansa met his gaze. He still spoke roughly but he wasn’t the same. The Sandor Clegane she had known would have gone North. There was coin being offered for those volunteering to go and he had always boasted of killing. He did not boast now. He hadn’t fought in the war when Arya went south. Sansa heard people speak of it.

 

“Why are you here?” she asked.

 

She did not think he was going to answer, he kept quiet for so long.

 

“I said I could keep you safe. I kept your sister safe, even if she didn’t thank me for it.”

 

Sansa wanted to say she _was_ safe but that would be a lie, no matter what she told Rickon. She heard the quarrels, the strange ravens. She remembered the one from Anya Waynwood and it unsettled her once more.

 

“I’m sure Arya is grateful.”

 

Sandor snorted.

 

“You managed to escape without my help, both from Joffrey and the Imp.”

 

She opened her mouth, uncertain but he showed little emotion about Joffrey’s death. _He thinks I helped kill him._ He hated Tyrion and Sansa didn’t know why.

 

“You were with Littlefinger for years,” he said before she could say anything.

 

“He protected me,” she said quickly.

 

_He saved me. He took me from King’s Landing and he saved me when my Aunt wanted to kill me._

 

“Like he protected your little friend?”

 

Sansa didn’t understand.

 

“He kept me safe from Cersei.”

 

“Why do they blame you for Joffrey’s murder then?”

 

Sansa shook her head and closed her eyes. Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips.

 

“I didn’t kill him. Petyr didn’t mean for me to be-“

 

_Petyr was my friend._

 

“No?” Sandor rasped. “Jaime Lannister told it differently. They gave him wine after they beat him and he sung a pretty song. His guards thought he lied. I don’t think Ser Jaime remembered after. Wine does that. I remember though.”

 

“Petyr didn’t--“

 

“Littlefinger looks after Littlefinger. Your little friend learned that. What was her name? Jeyne? I should remember, they talk about her enough here.”

 

He was saying awful things. Sansa didn’t understand what he meant about Jeyne. She didn’t understand what he was saying Petyr did to Jeyne. Jeyne had been with her in Kings Landing, she had been afraid and crying and Sansa did not know what had happened after. She thought back, thought back to Cersei and knew Cersei had sent Jeyne with Petyr and it wasn’t so much what Sandor was saying now but how he was saying it and Sansa felt the bile rising in her throat. Her legs felt weak as though they might not hold her and Sandor caught hold of her arm and steadied her.

 

“Jeyne,” she whispered.

 

He was saying awful things. He tried to make her look at him but Sansa wouldn’t. He was trying to sound gentle but the words were ugly, cruel.

 

“He was my father,” she whispered.

 

Sandor did make her look at him now and his expression was full of pity.

 

“You might not have needed another father if he hadn’t been in Joffrey’s ear.”

 

Sansa fled from him, shaking.

 

*

 

The dreamwine let her forget for a time. Ned was there when she woke. She judged that it was late. He only entered her chambers if he thought there to be something wrong. Her not leaving her bed clearly counted as something wrong.

 

“The maester is worried my lady. He says you have not eaten and your brother asks for you. If you miss dinner--”

 

_I promised Rickon._

 

Her brother would need her and that brought her back, made her see what she must do.

 

“I will eat,” she managed.

 

Ned looked relieved. He left her to call for a servant and Sansa pulled a warm robe on. She sat, thinking over what Sandor told her, what she knew of Petyr and the parchment still sitting within arm’s reach. Petyr said Aunt Lysa was mad, raving when she fell but that did not change what Petyr said to her. Sansa remembered, remembered what really happened.

 

_Petyr loved my mother._

 

_He whispered in Joffrey’s ear._

 

Sansa ate when the food arrived, thinking. It hurt to think, it really did but Sansa needed a plan. She needed to talk to her sister, really talk to her but Arya was gone. Every time Arya tried to speak of Petyr, Sansa had changed the subject. She could not do that anymore, not for herself and not for her family.

 

_Petyr is not my friend and he was never my family._

 

He might be a player but he had taught her well and as afraid as Sansa was, as much as she did not want to use his lessons, she was going to be ready.

 

_I can play too and I will._

 

Bran had said she had a part to play and now Sansa knew what it was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put a preview of the next chapter on tumblr because somebody asked for it and it is Christmas:
> 
> http://madaboutasoiaf.tumblr.com/post/135820499254/youre-super-kind-preview-of-the-next-chapter-of


	107. Chapter 107: Samwell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took such a long time. I've been ill (I spent my New Year in hospital) and I'm still sick but I really, really wanted to update. I won't promise weekly updates any more because every time I say I want to update weekly something happens to derail my plans. I can say I'll update when I can, as soon as I can. Sometimes it may be faster if my health is better and work is not tiring me out. Other times it may be delayed, like this chapter but know that I'm trying and that I value all of you who read this despite all the delays

Sam had loved Oldtown. The Citadel had so many rare books and he learned so much. He still trembled at the thought of wearing a chain, of the memories of that conversation and of his father.

_It never came to that._

Euron Greyjoy found him. Sam forged links fast, but not enough to make a chain. Not one that might fit _his_ neck. He remembered Jon giving him the command, remembered the urgency in his voice and even without all that, he remembered the Others. The Wall needed him and he had tried to learn quickly but it was not quick enough, not nearly enough time before the reavers came.

_At least Gilly is safe at Horn Hill._

_At least Euron did not take my tongue._

Jon commanded Sam not to call himself a craven any more but Euron Crow’s Eye terrified him. Euron terrified everybody else though too, so maybe it was not craven to fear him. Alleras had said he was not to be feared but that was before…

The drawbridge to the Isle of Ravens had not been raised in living memory but they had raised it to keep the Ironborn out. They were not just reaving now, and Euron was not satisfied with plunder, and he was too clever, too ready for them. His man on the inside made certain the Citadel’s safeguards failed and now Euron had the books, and he had Archmaester Walgrave and he had Sam.

The hold of _the Silence_ made him miss the Wall. Nobody spoke to him. They couldn’t speak. _Euron took their tongues._ The ship was named well, eerily silent and dark. It felt like something evil lurked within and whenever Euron appeared Sam thought he might be the source of the feeling. Something was not right about that eyepatch and what hid beneath it.

_Something is not right about his other eye either._

Sam did not know what the Crow’s Eye wanted with him. He was only a novice at the Citadel, only a steward of the Night’s Watch, craven and useless no matter what anybody said. He didn’t even have anything valuable, only the broken horn Jon had found on the Fist but Euron had taken that.

“It is broken your grace,” Sam told him.

Euron looked at him with that one blue eye and a smile on those blue stained lips.

“You would be surprised how useful broken things can be.”

Sam hated it on _the Silence_ but he hated it more when he was dragged out onto the land. They marched him into the castle at Pyke. Euron’s men complained about how fat and slow he was and Sam might have told them that he was not nearly so fat as he used to be but he did not have it in him to defend himself, not against these men.

Euron sat on the Seastone chair. Sam stood before him, tired, weak and aching. The oily black stone of the throne was familiar. He recalled that the foundation of the Hightower was of the same stone.

Euron leaned forward a little, his hands clasping the arms of the chair and his blue eye sparkling.

“Your Archmaester is of no further use.”

_He is not my Archmaester._

Walgrave’s wits wandered. Sam wondered what use Euron had made of him then decided he’d rather not know. He felt sorry for Walgrave though, he imagined that whatever the Crow’s Eye intended now would not be merciful or dignified.

_I cannot save him. I cannot even save myself._

“He spoke of you.”

Sam started. Euron seemed to be waiting for an answer.

“I’m nobody,” he stammered. “Just a novice, a black brother.”

“Sam the Slayer.”

Walgrave wasn’t meant to know of that. Nobody at the Citadel was meant to know of that. Sam did not speak of it, though Leo Tyrell liked to mock him with it. Leo didn’t believe Sam killed an Other but it didn’t stop him saying it, even if Sam stopped answering him.

“The Lord Commander gave me orders,” he said weakly. “I’m meant to go back to the Wall. The Wall needs maesters to attend the ravens.”

“There are better ways than ravens.”

Sam didn’t answer that. He didn’t know how to but Euron stood and his men were looking at Sam darkly as the Ironborn leader approached and extended his hand toward Sam. Sam looked at it warily but the Crow’s Eye only beckoned for him to follow.

“I don’t understand.”

Euron smiled again.

“I think you understand more than you would tell us.”

Sam felt he had little choice but to follow where Euron led. The Crow’s Eye spoke as they walked, boasting of surviving Valyria. Sam dare not voice his disbelief. He did not think Euron would like to be called a liar. Sam stumbled twice before a door opened to a chamber and the Ironborn king showed him inside. The room was lit up, unpleasantly bright. The curtains were black with yellow patterning and the yellow shone like gold.

Euron was right, Sam did understand.

“You have a dragonglass candle,” he blurted.

The broken horn that Jon found was sitting on a table. Somebody had tried to mend it. Euron saw him looking.

“You are from Horn Hill,” he said. “It is a curious amusement for you to bring this to me.”

“It’s just a broken horn,” Sam said.

Euron picked it up and ran his fingers over the bronze bands.

“Old horns can be useful. I have one myself. Do you know who made these bands?”

This time Sam did not have to pretend ignorance. He shook his head. He could guess, but he didn’t know. _It might have been the first men._ He didn’t know which one though, and the Crow’s Eye no longer seemed interested. He was sitting, gazing at the dragonglass candle. Sam dearly wanted to sit too.

“I know you know how these work,” Euron said.

Sam remembered what Marwyn had said. The candles could be used to see across mountains, seas and deserts. They could be used to speak to people, to give them dreams.

“I don’t know how to use one,” he squeaked. “I never see anything when I look.”

Euron only smiled.

“I have seen much and more.”

It was not a comforting thought. Sam tried not to look at the unpleasantly bright flame. He thought of Jon, and of what Maester Aemon had said of the prophecy and Daenerys and the fight against the Others. Euron wanted to rule Westeros, but he didn’t know what was coming. Sam saw a chance, even a man who felt wrong would not want dead men attacking the realm if he wished to rule.

“Have you seen the North?” Sam asked. “Look beyond the Wall.”

“I have,” Euron said mildly.

Sam took a step but the other men in the room made their presence known, halting him from moving closer to the Crow’s Eye. Euron only laughed.

“My fat friend won’t harm me.”

_I couldn’t even if I wanted to._

“The Others,” Sam said. “They’re coming.”

Euron stopped smiling even though the other men laughed long and hard. When they finally stopped the Crow’s Eye behaved as though Sam had not spoken.

“My brother is bringing me my bride. Daenerys Targaryen, and her dragons.”

Sam had heard all about Daenerys and her dragons but he also knew of Aegon, and of Jon Snow’s sister and the wars fought for the Iron Throne.

“They say her nephew sits the throne.”

Euron was dismissive.

“The pretender is too distracted by the Northern girl to truly claim the throne and Daenerys’ hand. The Northern girl is too distracted by the North to make either of them a threat I cannot manage.”

_Aegon already sits the throne._

Sam could see Euron did not view Aegon as an obstacle.

“What do you want me for?” he asked, afraid of the answer.

Euron’s smile had returned.

“I want you to tell me what you know.”

Sam wanted to refuse. _He will kill me if I don’t do as he asks._ He looked at the candle, wondering if he should refuse anyway.

_I am a craven if I do this._

“I won’t hurt the girl, or your bastard.”

Sam looked from the candle to Euron. _He has seen Gilly, he thinks Dalla’s boy is mine._ He was craven enough to waver over his own life but he couldn’t risk Gilly. He had sworn to keep her safe.

 _I’m an oathbreaker_ , he thought miserably. _He is making me an oathbreaker again._

“What will you do with what I tell you?”

Euron stood and walked to the window.

“I am going to welcome my bride. I am going to fly.”

Sam didn’t know what that meant and given he had already made his decision he supposed it didn’t matter.

*

Euron seemed to be amused by Sam and Sam did not understand why. The Crow’s Eye enjoyed mocking people and did little to hide his disdain, even of his Ironborn. He seemed to view people as playthings and Sam felt himself to be a new toy, a puppet with his strings being pulled. He had little choice but he did not like it.

Euron’s men did not like it either.

“You will bore him sooner or later,” one of them told him, a young man Sam learned was one of Euron’s bastard sons.

Sam thought so too but time passed and he remained in the castle, a guest, a hostage. Euron summoned him, asked him things and Sam answered. Sometimes he left things out, things he did not think safe to tell such a man but Euron did not seem to notice.

“It is rare to find a man who knows his place,” the Crow’s Eye said one day.

Sam didn’t answer but his knees ached from kneeling. He did not think Euron a true king but it was best not to say that. Sam had seen what happened to men who displeased Euron Greyjoy. He just kept his eyes down and kept his mouth shut unless Euron asked him something and expected an answer.

“My brother used to be such a man,” Euron said with a laugh. “Now he thinks to defy me.”

Sam remained silent. The Crow’s Eye had two remaining brothers, Aeron and Victarion. _He must mean the priest._ The laughter did not fool Sam, under it the Crow’s Eye was angry. Aeron Greyjoy was a prophet with a following, his re-emergence and defiance was a threat to Euron’s rule. Sam knew enough of history to understand the threat posed by an unruly brother.

Euron finally allowed him to rise and Sam all but collapsed into a seat, just as a messenger arrived. He expected to be sent away but they paid him no mind.

“Lord Victarion has returned,” the messenger reported. “He has a dragon.”

The man was pale as milk, clearly terrified but if the Crow’s Eye was afraid he hid it well.

“Has the horn been retrieved?” he asked mildly.

“The-the horn?”

Euron smiled.

“Aye, Dragonbinder. It would disappoint me to think it has been forgotten already. The sound of it is something a man might remember.”

The Crow’s Eye’s men snorted and laughed. One hit the messenger, a heavy blow which knocked him off his feet. He stumbled to regain his footing.

“I gave orders,” Euron continued. “The horn must return to me.”

“Aye,” the man said. “If Lord Victarion does not have it-“

“He does not,” Euron said.

“You shall have it, your grace.”

The messenger bowed and retreated quickly, and Euron’s loyal followers looked at him, some wary and others merely curious. Sam braced himself.

“Victarion has a dragon,” one of the younger ones said, “He wasn’t supposed to have a dragon.”

Euron rose from his throne.

“My brother has executed my plans, just as I ordered.” His eye glittered as he spoke. “He is bringing me this dragon, and delivering my bride.”

He sounded so very certain, his smile full of confidence and Sam felt a chill run down his spine. He wished he had learned to use the glass candles that he might warn Daenerys, warn Jon of what was coming. Whatever it was, it was nothing good.

*

The lords of the Iron Islands were all at Pyke, all gathered in the hall while Euron sat in the Seastone Chair. Victarion Greyjoy was outside, the roar of the dragon enough to make every man in the hall tremble. Pyke was an old castle, and not likely to stand well against a dragon though Euron still insisted that Victarion served him.

A messenger entered the castle, whispered to Euron and Sam saw the Crow’s Eye stop smiling. He rose, leaving only briefly and when he returned he had one of the thralls with him carrying a horn. The horn was huge, not at all like the cracked horn Jon had found on the Fist.

The Crow’s Eye called for the attention of those within the Hall.

“The Lord Captain has returned, let us set eyes upon the prize I have promised you.”

Sam remained in his seat, but Euron had other ideas. He was taken by the arm and walked out with the others. The sky was lit up briefly by dragon flame and Sam remembered the prophecy. Euron had laughed when he told him.

_“The princess who was promised. They might pray for her all they like, soon they will pray to me.”_

Maester Aemon had said the dragon must have three heads, that his brothers had dreamed of dragons and it was those with his blood who rode them. Yet it was one of the Ironborn on this dragon, Euron Greyjoy’s brother. Sam knew little of Victarion Greyjoy, only that men said he was a follower, not a leader.

_He still stepped forward to be king._

Lord Victarion was not following anybody now. He brought the dragon low, to land before them.

“Brother,” Euron called out. “I promised dragons and you have brought me the first as I commanded.”

The dragonrider raised an arm, an unnatural looking arm. He cracked a whip and the dragon took two steps forward and flapped its wings, the movements sounding like a clap of thunder. The ironborn moved back, away from the beast but their king stood his ground even as his brother brandished the whip again

“The dragon is my glory Euron, not yours.”

Euron chuckled and the man by Sam’s side looked grave. He was not one of Euron’s chosen, those had moved closer to their king.

“This will end in blood. I should have stayed on Harlaw.”

Sam eyed him curiously before turning his attention back to the Greyjoy’s.

“Is it to end in treason Victarion?” the Crow’s Eye said loudly. “I expected loyalty, a younger brother serves his elder.”

The man with the horn stepped forward. Sam could not see well, but he heard Lord Victarion bellow something, something about the horn. Euron’s reply carried better.

“I sent for it when I heard you were coming. You think it is bound to you?”

The Crow’s Eye shook his head, and began to laugh. His men joined in, the laughter growing louder until an awful sound pierced the ear and Sam covered his ears, crouching to try and hide, to somehow get away from it.

It was the horn and it felt like it _burned._ The sound went on and on and even when it stopped it echoed in Sam’s ears. He opened his eyes, suddenly aware he had closed them and saw the dragon twisting, it rose in the air, the rider struggling to hold on.

“Dracarys,” the command from Lord Victarion was harsh, frightened. Sam knew what the word meant from his scarce valyrian and his time studying scrolls at the Citadel but there was no fire to follow the command. Victarion’s voice had no effect on the dragon. The beast roared, and flew up and up, then it spun, the man on its back falling from a height. He fell with a sickening crunch and the dragon flew back down, calmly now before landing before Euron Greyjoy.

“I give you one dragon,” the Crow’s Eye announced. “Before I am finished we will have three, and Westeros will be ours.”

There was silence at first, then uncertain hushed voices before some began to cheer, then more cheering as the Crow’s Eye approached the dragon and it stilled under his hand. He climbed onto its back and the dragon remained calm.

“His brother,” Sam whispered.

The man next to him put his hand on Sam’s shoulder and Sam flinched.

“Euron is a madman,” he said quietly. “You would do well to remember that.” He sighed. “If only the others could see.”

But they didn’t, and Sam dreaded what that meant for Westeros.

_The Others are coming and this will only make it easier for them._

 


	108. Aegon & Bran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise this chapter won't be what many of you have been waiting for but I needed to deal with some loose ends before I cover the other povs. Sorry for the long wait

**Chapter 108**

**Aegon**

Rhaegal might have let Aegon ride him but the dragon paid little or no attention to him once they left the ground. Aegon held on, his leg hurting and he tried to keep his eyes open even though the wind stung them, just as before. The green dragon was slower than Drogon, his injured wing no doubt the reason and Aegon tried to speak to him as Dany spoke to the dragons, hoping that even if Rhaegal did not listen to commands that he might still take something from Aegon’s voice. It seemed to calm the dragon a little and he did not fly far.

_I must hope it is far enough._

They landed awkwardly and Aegon lurched to one side, almost tumbling off. Rhaegal took a couple of steps, his wings raised before he stilled and they folded in close to his body. Aegon slid from his back and rested his hand on the warm scales. The dragon made a noise, a low sound compared to his roar and looked at Aegon with bronze coloured eyes. Aegon could see himself in them and he looked small and pale and weak.

“We’ll stay here,” he said, doubtful the dragon understood.

He took a few steps and sat. The camp tents were still visible in the distance but they seemed very small. Aegon couldn’t walk there, not without pain and it would take time for anybody to reach them. Aegon dearly hoped his cousin would not be the one to find them. He clenched his hands into fists, uttering a string of curses. Rhaegal was moving and Aegon watched him but the dragon did not go far. He had found prey, somehow, and Aegon watched as he retrieved his now roasted prize, ripped it apart and ate it. He then curled up right there in the snow, one eye still half open.

_I’d be keeping watch if I were him too._

They waited there, and Aegon inspected his leg. The cut was deep. _I must have landed on a rock._ He would need a master and he thought of Haldon. He missed the halfmaester. Haldon wrote to him but it wasn’t the same as seeing him every day and having his counsel. Haldon would be pleased about the dragon and he would have advice, advice which did not involve frowning and muttering about death of dragons. Aegon sorely needed him now.

His eyelids were drooping when Rhaegal startled him with a snort. Men were approaching on horses and Aegon struggled to his feet cursing his now stiffened leg. It was Brynden Tully with his outriders. They reined up and Aegon limped forward to meet them.

“He has already eaten,” he told them, trying to sound confident. “If you are not here to hurt him you have no cause to fear.”

It was the Blackfish who dismounted first. If he was afraid he did not show it. His expression was as black as his name and the way he looked at Aegon suggested that he wanted to scold him.

“What do you intend, your grace?”

“I must depart Casterly Rock,” he said firmly. “I will send orders to my cousin to return to King’s Landing with the Dornish.”

Ser Brynden did not look surprised.

“What would you have of me?” he asked.

“You may return to Riverrun,” Aegon told him. “I will see that Lord Edmure is released and he will accompany you.”

“Lannister will not agree to that,” Ser Brynden warned. “Edmure is Daenerys’ prisoner.”

“Daenerys is not here,” Aegon reminded him. “Tyrion will not want to oppose a dragon.”

He sounded decisive even if he could not hide how tired he was. _We cannot stay here._ It wasn’t his Aunt he feared. It was those who would set them against one another and he did not think the Unsullied would take kindly to Aegon riding Rhaegal. They would not be the only ones displeased. Aegon wanted his men away from the Unsullied and the Dothraki before war erupted between them. It was already late, the tension was too high between them and he could see it ending in violence.

_My Aunt will understand. I will make her understand._

“Varys has arrived,” Ser Brynden informed him.

“What of Magister Illyrio?” Aegon asked.

The Blackfish shook his head and gave Rhaegal a wary look.

“How do you intend to return to camp?”

 “I’m staying here,” he said determinedly. He wouldn’t leave his dragon, even if he wasn’t entirely sure Rhaegal knew he was Aegon’s. It had taken so long and he had risked too much to allow anybody to cause Rhaegal harm. He had not thought anybody might kill the dragons, not really, not until the attempt was made. The knowledge shook him and if his orders were not enough to stop would be dragonslayers then he would stay with the dragon, try to bond with Rhaegal more as he healed his injured wing. Aegon needed him to recover.

_I will need him to be strong enough to take me wherever I may need to go._

There were so many places he wanted to be. For a moment he thought of Winterfell but he dismissed the idea. It would be foolish, even if Rhaegal were not injured. _I cannot think of her. I am needed elsewhere._ He thought wistfully of Dragonstone and how nice it might be to take the dragon there but duty ruled that option out too.

_There will be unrest in Oldtown and King’s Landing._

The ironborn in Oldtown could not be allowed to remain, not after what Victarion had done and he expected going to Oldtown would bring him face to face with Obara and the Manderly fleet. _Obara would not have listened to my commands, no more than Nym did._ Lady Asha would not like it but her people were likely to suffer less at his hands than at his cousins.

_I must order Lady Asha to accompany the Blackfish._

He needed to keep her well away until he knew the outcome of Dany’s pursuit of Victarion. He looked down at his leg and scowled. “I will need a maester.”

Ser Brynden sighed.

“I will send one to you if I can convince one to come. What do you intend to do with the beast?”

“I need a whip,” Aegon said, pretending to be confident. “I can keep him back with it if need be.”

Rhaegal snorted and moved a little and Aegon limped toward the dragon before looking back at Ser Brynden.

The Blackfish’s mouth twitched, just enough for Aegon to guess the knight saw through his pretence. It was hard to tell if Ser Brynden wanted to laugh at him or lecture him. He finally sighed again.

“If you say so your grace.”

*

Men came and went regularly. A whip was found and men from the Golden Company brought him food, shelter, a terrified maester and Varys. The maester boiled wine and poured it on Aegon’s leg, dressing it and ordering him to walk with a stick. Harry Strickland was less craven than Aegon expected, sitting with him by his fire and talking plans of attack while Varys tittered and interjected with his own counsel.

When they were alone Varys stopped laughing.

“Your grace the people need to see their king. Randyll Tarly is not well loved, I’m afraid.”

“Tyrion told me,” Aegon admitted. “King’s Landing is not the entire realm though. I can deal with the Faith after.”

“They may not wait,” Varys warned. “Your people are suffering.”

“My people are suffering everywhere,” Aegon said sharply. “The ironborn are our enemies. My aunt--“

“Daenerys is not wanted,” Varys said gently.

Aegon stared at him.

“Dany is my kin.”

“She is a threat,” Varys warned. “She landed with a Dothraki horde, an army of slaves and dragons.”

 _Former slaves_ Aegon thought but he knew that to outsiders the distinction would not matter. The Dothraki would not be viewed well but the dragons-Dany only had one of them with her now. _They are the sigil of our house._ The dreams still troubled him but he did not believe Dany was the threat, not now that Victarion rode a dragon.

_Dany will not turn on me unless she feels betrayed._

“Magister Illyrio gave her the eggs,” Aegon argued. “Where is he? He was meant to be here, to explain.”

Varys only shook his head.

“Illyrio does not travel well. He returned to King’s Landing but you may write him. He will not give you different counsel.”

Aegon shook his head, remembering the man who gave him gifts, who remembered he liked candied ginger and who sent Duck to train him and Haldon to teach him and who sheltered him and Lord Connington.

“I _know_ him. He would not ask me to betray my kin.”

Varys almost seemed to smile.

“Your loyalty is admirable. It will not be returned. Daenerys is a conqueror and she came here for a crown. If Lord Connington were alive-“

“Lord Connington is dead,” Aegon said sharply. “Before he died he urged me to seek my Aunt, to ally with her.”

“To wed her,” Varys said gently. “My little birds tell me she has not succumbed to your charms. I did warn that your affection for Lady Arya was a weakness.”

Aegon flushed at the reminder of his failure. The reminder of Arya made him angry.

“I’m not weak,” he snapped. “Where were your little birds when my enemies tried to turn Dany’s people against mine? Or mayhaps your little birds were the ones whispering the poisonous tales. You do seem determined that I oppose her.”

Varys looked wounded.

“You mistake me your grace,” he said. “I am only offering you my counsel, to do with as you please.” He sniffed and wrung his hands. “I am loyal to you as I have always been.”

Aegon studied him. Varys did look truly offended. _Magister Illyrio always said Varys was his friend, that he was serving me loyally in secret for years._ Robert Baratheon thought Varys loyal too but Varys had worked to put Aegon on the throne. He had no reason to doubt Varys still wanted him to be king.

“I’m not going to fight Dany,” he said. “I won’t be a kinslayer.”

“Leave her to deal with the ironborn,” Varys said quietly. “Euron Greyjoy may serve a purpose.”

Aegon narrowed his eyes, wondering what the eunuch meant. _Victarion has the dragon._ Euron might already be dead given what little Asha Greyjoy had told him about the hatred between the brothers. They seemed less averse to kinslaying than the rest of the realm.

“I will fly to Oldtown,” Aegon insisted. “I’ll leave as soon as Rhaegal can take me.”

Varys nodded meekly though there was something in his eyes, a hardness that made Aegon doubt for a heartbeat.

“I’ll see Magister Illyrio in King’s Landing,” Aegon offered. “I’ll put the city to rights once I’m done in Oldtown and I’ve settled the Riverlands.”

Varys let out a breath, slowly and smiled.

“Your grace knows what is best,” he said.

He wasn’t entirely happy, Aegon could tell. He remembered Arya’s warning in King’s Landing. _I’m not his puppet king._ Aegon would rule for the people, just as Varys urged him but he would do it _his_ way.

*

Tyrion came to see him, without Edmure. Aegon had just fed Rhaegal and the dragon was curled up not far from his shelter. Aegon had taken a stool and sat outside, watching him while his guards watched the dragon more than they did Aegon. The dwarf dismounted and greeted him warmly, but the warmth did not last.

“Daenerys is not likely to thank you for taking her dragon.”

Aegon was taken aback.

“You told me to go to him.”

The dwarf snorted.

“I did not tell you to take him. I certainly did not advise you to use him to threaten Daenerys.”

Aegon clenched his fist and Rhaegal stirred, almost as though he sensed his anger.

“I have not threatened Daenerys. She isn’t even here.”

Tyrion sat across from him on a stool as though Aegon hadn’t even spoken.

“It is very tedious your grace, being besieged.”

Aegon clenched his jaw.

“You are not besieged my lord. I only-”

“Asked for me to hand over hostages. While wielding a dragon.”

“You are making fun of me,” Aegon said stiffly.

“I would not do such a thing,” the dwarf replied. “Do you have wine?” Aegon shook his head.

Tyrion sighed. “A pity.”

He pulled out a flask and drank from that. Aegon watched him warily.

“Why are you here?”

Tyrion cocked his head at Rhaegal.

“I wanted to see him.”

Aegon reached for the whip, gave it a crack.

“Rhaegal,” he called sharply.

The dragon looked at him reproachfully and Aegon almost held his breath, then he rose, lazily, and snorted, taking a step towards them. Aegon cracked the whip again and he took a step back. Aegon could almost feel his annoyance at being disturbed.

“You’ve seen him now,” he told Tyrion.

Tyrion was still watching Rhaegal, clearly not as easily intimidated as Aegon had hoped he might be.

“Can he fly?” he asked mildly.

“He flew here,” Aegon said abruptly.

Tyrion laughed at that.

“Can he fly to King’s Landing,” he asked pointedly.

Aegon did not answer that.

“I expected Dany might have returned,” he said instead.

Tyrion seemed unconcerned.

“She has been absent much longer than this before,” he remarked. “She always returns.” He gave Aegon a grotesque smile. “Usually with an even larger army.”

Aegon shifted uncomfortably at the thought.

“You mean to keep Lord Edmure,” he said.

“I did not say that,” Tyrion replied.

Aegon studied him. Tyrion met his gaze, his mismatched eyes still unsettling. _He wants something._ Aegon waited, reaching for his stick to stand. He stifled a curse at the awkwardness, thinking for a moment of the ease with which Arya managed with only one good leg.

“You receive ravens from the North,” Tyrion said.

“Haldon serves there,” Aegon said defensively.

Tyrion chuckled.

“Haldon serves _you_ there.” He tsked at Aegon. “Don’t get all righteous and angry again, I want to hear word of my lady wife.”

The Blackfish would be wroth if Aegon spoke of it, he knew. He could picture Arya’s anger too, the flush to her cheeks she could not hide even if there was no other sign. _Lady Sansa said the vows_ , he told himself. If Arya became angry with him, angry enough to write him he would tell her so.

“Lady Sansa is at Winterfell.”

Tyrion nodded. It was difficult to tell whether he was pleased or not. He opened his mouth, as if to ask something else but no other questions followed, not about Sansa. The subject changed, swiftly.

“You mean to send Ser Brynden to Riverrun.”

“I do,” Aegon confirmed.

“Is Lord Randyll to be your Hand?”

Aegon frowned. It was true the Blackfish only agreed to it for a time but Aegon had not thought of replacing him. _This is what Tyrion wants._

“A kingslayer cannot be Hand of the king,” he said quickly.

Tyrion scowled, ever so briefly.

“Even if the king was sitting on your throne?”

“You killed your father,” Aegon said.

“Also one of your enemies. I’ve done you good service there, ask anybody.”

It was very much like the conversation they had on the Shy Maid. Aegon had accepted the reasons then because he liked Tyrion, Tyrion made him laugh. Tyrion was a friend. That was a long time ago now and the man in front of him had given Daenerys counsel, counsel which did not always benefit Aegon.

“You would serve me,” he said slowly. “Even if Daenerys returns.”

“It was Illyrio’s plan was it not?” the dwarf asked. “I did not choose to leave your company. Besides, I understood you do not meant to quarrel with her.”

Aegon thought on it for a moment.

“You’ll hand over Edmure and his family.”

“I will.” Tyrion grinned again. “I’ll also calm Daenerys’ men, for a time at least. Mayhaps long enough for her to return. I’ll also sing her a pretty song about you rescuing her dragon from harm.”

“I did stop him getting killed,” Aegon said hotly.

It was a good offer, and one Aegon could not afford to refuse. Time was what he needed, and shrewd counsel. Tyrion Lannister offered him both. It would allow Rhaegal to heal and then he could go to Oldtown, just as he planned.

“Very well, we have an agreement.”

Tyrion took the hand he offered.

“We do, your grace.”

**Bran**

The trees called to him, just as they had called to Lord Brynden while he lived. Bran couldn’t answer their call, not now. He knew people were at the heart tree in Winterfell. He knew they came to seek him at many of the Northern trees, desperate, hungry, frightened and wanting Bran to hear them. It reminded him of when he was Lord of Winterfell but this was bigger, Bran’s word was not just a Lord’s command and he could reach so many and so many could reach him.

“You are king,” Arya told him. She visited the tree every day before she left Winterfell, sometimes looking the part of a lady and other times dressed in breeches with her hair tangled and her cheeks flushed from running. “You don’t have to be here to be king.”

His sisters and his little brother were afraid but they were facing their fears bravely. Bran knew he must do the same. He tried to warn them, tried to tell them of what they faced, but he did not tell them what he faced himself. He could hear it, the almost rhythmic thud at the entrance of the cave. Soil fell from the roof, almost like dry rain.

Lord Brynden still sat on his weirwood throne, his eye closed. It took time for Bran to accept he would never hear the soft, wise voice any more but the last greenseer had been silent for more than a day. Bran wept over his death, wept over what would one day be his fate too but they could not keep waiting. Still he hesitated.

“He needs to be burned,” Bran said. “He would have wanted it.”

Lord Brynden might be a bastard but he was a Targaryen still, just as Jon was a Stark no matter his birth or his blood. Leaf nodded and the children gathered around, singing as they wove their magic. Bran watched as the flames consumed the body, the weirwood throne feeding the fire until only blackened bones remained.

“He won’t rise to serve them now,” Leaf said.

The words sent a chill down Bran’s spine. The thought of the Others having Lord Brynden on their side was terrifying, more terrifying than the ice spiders and the other dead creatures the Others commanded. Lord Brynden knew too much, he could do too much to allow him to be used by the enemy.

“It is time to go.”

They gathered around Bran, freeing him from the small roots just beginning to grow around him from his own weirwood throne. Bran never sat on it long, not long enough for it to grow into him as it had with Lord Brynden but leaving it was harder than he ever thought it might be.

“The trees--“ he began to say.

“They will still call to you,” Ash told him. “Your gifts are strong.”

It would not be the same. They would be moving, always moving without time for Bran to stop and connect to the weirwoods growing throughout the cave and throughout the tunnels. There might be time when they rested but rest time was for Summer, for being a wolf and for the ravens and the messages he must send through them.

“My family, they will look for me.”

“You must live,” Coals insisted.

He knew they were right. He would miss Sansa and Rickon. They would not understand, especially Rickon. They would seek him at the tree and Bran wanted to see them. He would still have the ravens to see with and to speak with but that wasn’t the same, except with Arya. Only Arya truly knew about the ravens, only Arya understood about the skinchanging.

“You will see them again,” Meera said stubbornly.

Her face was drawn with grief, grief for her brother. She still helped free Bran, still helped him be moved so that they might begin the journey out of the cave. He felt a surge of guilt as Hodor bent and picked him up gently, and resentment at having to be carried once more.

“Where will we go?” he asked.

“South,” Leaf answered. “The tunnels will show us the way. The way is secret, but some of us know the secret.”

Another soft rain of soil drifted down, covering them all.

“South,” Bran repeated. “To the Wall?”

“To a safe place,” Ash said.

 _There are no safe places._ Bran had thought Winterfell was safe once. The thought of it filled him with longing and he held on tightly as they moved through the tunnels. Living in the darkness made his gifts strong but it had made his body weak. _South,_ he thought. South would mean light and it would mean warmth, warm enough for Summer to run and hunt and find something other than dead men to eat.

The direwolf didn’t like being in the cave, being in the dark but right now he led the way, seeming eager and Bran shared his eagerness. South would bring him closer to home and now that they had begun, now that they were moving, Bran could scarcely wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intend to write the Dany chapter next


	109. Chapter 109: Daenerys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to get this done to post for Easter. I ran a little late but here it is :)

**Daenerys**

Daenerys Targaryen’s dreams were filled with fire and blood. She had not understood. The vision Benerro showed her was one she saw when she closed her eyes at night and in the daylight she feared it. She had remembered some of her lessons, but not all.

_I longed too much for a home._

She thought she was following Quaithe’s words, not looking back, pressing forward to Westeros, to the place where she was a queen, where she belonged. Her people awaited her… except she now saw that she had not moved forward at all. She wanted peace too much. She wanted a home too much and the more she conceded, the more she gave in to so as to prevent war, the more it felt like she had never truly left Meereen at all.

_I am the blood of the dragon._

_I am the mother of dragons._

She wanted to protect her children, to prevent them being hurt and used against innocents but she now saw that her attempts were in vain. The dragon must have three heads but Victarion could not be one. Dany would not accept that the ironborn captain was one of the men she must have by her side, not when he took one of her dragons by trickery.

_Three treasons you shall know._

The anger boiled within her as she flew from Casterly Rock toward the Iron Islands. She swore Victarian would burn for what he had done. Her words were fire and blood and she now embraced them, urging Drogon to fly faster. The black dragon shared her rage, screaming as they drew near. Victarion left days before her but Dany did not doubt where she would find him.

If only she knew the islands better.

It mattered little. It was the smallest of the seven kingdoms, and the people would tell her what she needed to know. She would make certain of it.

A castle became visible and Dany brought the dragon low, but still out of range of crossbows and spears. She tried to recall what Victarion had told her of Pyke and knew this was not the castle she sought. It was not old enough, and as she looked over the towers and counted she remembered Asha Greyjoy telling her of friends, of kin, of Harlaw.

A sentry blew the horn, warning of her arrival and Dany raised one hand in the air.

“I would speak with your lord.”

The man gave her a doubtful look. He was shaking a little when he looked upon the dragon but he stood firm.

“Lord Rodrik is away.”

She eyed him, wondering if he was lying to her.

“If that is the case then I would speak with Lady Gwynesse.”

The message was delivered and Dany waited. Drogon was impatient and he flew down, his claws gripping to the top of a tower. She slid from his back and stayed with him. It was odd, none aimed their weapons and when Lady Gwynesse emerged she was pale, her face lined with grief but she almost seemed welcoming and for her age, stronger than might be expected.

“What brings you to my castle, your grace?”

Dany smiled briefly at the choice of words. _Her castle, not Lord Rodrik’s._ Her smile faded as she remembered her purpose.

“Victarion Greyjoy took something from me.”

Gwynesse Harlaw scowled.

“The Old Way has returned. He didn’t claim it well if you are here to retrieve it. That is not paying the iron price.”

Dany bristled.

“It was not a trinket.”

Gwynesse was muttering as though Dany had not spoken.

“At least father did not wed _me_ to a Greyjoy. My husband had more sense. He….” Her lip trembled. “I am the eldest. I told him.”

_She is confused._

“Where will I find Victarion?”

It was one of the men who answered.

“There is a gathering at Pyke.” He pointed in the direction of the island. “If Victarion has returned, you will find him there.”

Gwynesse was studying Drogon and had appeared to have gathered her wits again.

“Stay, we will have supper.”

Dany declined politely, to another round of muttering about the Ten Towers. It made Dany think as she climbed onto Drogon’s back once more. _My nephew’s claim is stronger than mine._ Viserys came before her too and if he had not died… _He would have been a terrible king._ Aegon was not the same but he would rule not because he was better than her, he would rule because he was a man.

_Mayhaps Dorne has it right. Mayhaps the North is not wrong in following the strongest, the woman they say can command a pack of wolves._

Where did that leave Dany though? She pushed the thoughts out of her mind, directing Drogon the way the man had pointed, towards Pyke. It was not the Iron Throne that troubled her now, nor Dorne or the North. It was the Greyjoy brothers and their ambition. It was their cruelty, and their betrayal.

Dany intended to teach them the cost of waking the dragon.

*

She knew Pyke not only by the way it appeared, very much as described to her, but also by hearing Viserion. The dragon called as she and Drogon drew near, and Dany’s heart beat faster, looking for any sign of him. She did not see him and he only called the once. Drogon roared in answer.

They had approached from the sea, flying along the coast and Dany tried to urge Drogon toward the castle but he did not listen. Instead he made a sudden turn, toward the ships at port and nothing Dany did would turn him back. He screamed, an angry sound, and Dany saw men on the docks as they approached.

Viserion roared in answer and took to the air. A man was on his back, riding the dragon as though born to it. He laughed.

“I have been expecting you, sweet Daenerys.”

She watched him, still wary. He was handsome, and seemed younger than Victarion but she could see the resemblance and knew that was wrong. The patch he wore over one eye told her who he was.

“Where is your brother?” she asked, knowing what the answer would be.

“Dead.”

Euron did not seem to mourn.

“How?” she asked.

Euron seemed amused.

“He fell. Not every man is meant to ride a dragon.”

_You were not meant to ride one either._ Viserion did not fight his rider though. He watched Drogon but he was calm, calmer than Dany had seen him before. It made Dany doubt for a heartbeat but she knew this could not be right. The dragon must have three heads but not through betrayal, or theft. She had no blade, no weapon but Drogon. He was still far larger than either of his brothers.

_I do not want them to kill one another._

She had raised them all, loved them. She remembered the dead, remembered what the dragons were capable of and remembered what Victarion told her of his brother’s plans.

“Viserion is not yours,” she said. “I will not let you use him.”

Euron Greyjoy seemed to shrug.

“He does not seem unwilling.”

Dany could see that was the truth. It left her with only one choice. Her eyes filled with tears as she raised the whip and brought it down on Drogon, urging him at Viserion. The black dragon did not hesitate, for all that they were brothers. He shrieked, and attacked from below, razor sharp teeth bared at Viserion’s belly and Viserion spun away, barely quick enough.

Drogon pursued him without any prompt from Dany and she held onto him as tightly as she could, desperately wishing she had the saddle Tyrion designed. The white dragon would never get away, Drogon was determined, furious, and Dany wondered if not for the first time about the bond between dragon and rider, whether it was her despair and rage coming out in him.

Viserion flew higher and Dany wondered how it was that Euron was not afraid. He did not try to attack. _Even if he did he has no hope._ She braced herself for the impact, for the collision of claws and teeth and then she heard the horn.

Even so far from the ground it was deafening, making her ears ring. Dany had never become accustomed to it, even when she blew it herself but she could endure it. Drogon however could not. He made a terrible sound, a shriek as if he was in pain. She saw Viserion fly past them, down towards the horn and Dany felt terror for a heartbeat at the idea that Drogon might obey the call. He did not, flying away from it instead. She tried to command him to follow Viserion, to listen to her voice as the sound of the horn went on and on but he was spinning, spinning and flying higher and higher and she felt as though she would fall it made her so dizzy. She _would_ fall if he did not stop.

“Drogon,” she pleaded, breathlessly.

The sound of the horn finally stopped and as it stopped Drogon spun one final time before turning and beginning to plummet back down. Dany clung on, her heart in her throat as the ground became visible, coming closer and closer but Drogon was going faster and faster and she tried to stop him, to slow him. He did not heed her until it was almost too late.

She slipped, struggled, and dropped to the ground, landing awkwardly but alive. A thunderclap of wings told her Drogon was close, but not close enough. She tried to move and her ankle pained her. She heard a snort and a shadow fell over her. She looked up to see Viserion. He was watching her, with Euron Greyjoy standing beside him.

“My brother lacked loyalty,” he said. “I would have rewarded him, if only he had served me well, as was the duty of a younger brother.” He touched Viserion, his one visible blue eye shining brightly. “I am very generous to my friends.”

Dany could hear the threat underneath.

_He is ruthless to his enemies._

“We are alike, you and I,” Euron continued. “We share a goal.”

“I’m not like you,” Dany said, struggling to her feet. “I have heard enough to know that.”

Euron put a hand over his heart, and gave her an offended look that was at odds with the amusement in his eye.

“The small folk and the envious will tell stories. We shall see. I have a gift for you.”

He gave a signal with his hand and Dany limped toward Viserion. The white dragon sniffed at her, but he did not move from his place by Euron. She heard voices and saw a small group of men approaching. Between them was a figure, somewhat familiar, and as they drew close Dany knew him. Pyat Pree was still pale, his lips still stained blue. He smiled thinly as he stopped before her.

“I have waited for this day.”

_He has worked towards my downfall since I left Quarth._

Dany looked between the warlock and Euron. It made sense now, the control of the dragon, the blue stain on Euron’s lips too. _He truly has been learning magic_. Dany had heard tales, but now she knew. Pyat Pree was triumphant. His expression was gloating but Euron’s gaze was fixed on Dany. His amusement was gone and something chilling had taken its place.

_The warlock does not see it._

She stood straight, remembering the Undying and what Pyat Pree had tried to do to her, to her dragons.

“I hope it is all you wished for,” she said coldly.

Euron took a step, quickly, and gave a sharp command to turn the dragon’s attention to his target.

“Dracarys.”

The warlock screamed and Dany watched impassively as he burned, the red and orange of the flames mingling with the blue.

“I thought you rewarded those who served you,” she said to Euron once Pyat Pree crumpled and fell silent.

Euron laughed.

“The warlock and I were not friends. He was of no further use to me. His death pleases you?”

Dany could not deny that it felt like justice. Euron smiled and she knew he must have seen her thoughts written in her expression. He offered her his arm and Dany felt she had no choice but to take it. She needed help to walk on her injured ankle and when she looked to the sky Drogon was well away, too far away to call.

“We will have a feast to welcome you Daenerys.”

Dany looked back over her shoulder. Viserion had curled up where he was and closed his eyes. She wished she had a whip, or that she might have the dragon horn, anything to have him back and to have him look at her the way he did before he was stolen. He did not harm her. Dany knew he had not forgotten her but he did not seem to be _hers_ now, not the way he was before.

“You will be queen,” Euron said. “Together we will take Westeros and the Iron Throne.”

He had a grip on her arm now, him holding onto her as much as she held onto him.

_I do not need Euron to be a queen. I don’t want to rule with Euron at my side._

She knew better than to say it. She had known men like Euron before, proud, hard, cruel. He had a certain charm. She had not expected that. Dany would not be blinded by it. She was no longer a girl. She watched the faces of the ironborn as they passed, the way they cheered. Euron indulged them but there was an air about him, that they meant little to him.

“Drogon will return,” Dany told him.

“I am not concerned with the black dragon,” Euron said mildly. “The other must join us, the green dragon.”

Dany kept her expression neutral. _Rhaegal must not be brought here._ She did not know what magic Euron intended to wield to control the last dragon. Drogon would not heed him, she was certain of that but Rhaegal had never had a rider. He had no bond to be broken.

“I can send a raven,” she said.

Euron chuckled.

“Ravens are not needed.”

He did not explain. Dany knew enough, even without knowing it all. _I am a hostage._ She knew the dangers, even if Euron was smiling and laughing. They travelled a short distance by wagon and as they reached Pyke and entered the castle she saw a man, a rather fat man all in black look at her with terror in his eyes. He dropped his head and walked with them when beckoned. Dany told herself she was not afraid, even if his fear told her that she should be.

_I have endured worse._

Heavy doors opened before them. Euron stopped and spoke to those in the hall.

“My bride has arrived.”

Dany whirled around, awkward and unable to pull away from him but the doors were shut behind her. The man in black looked at her with pity in his eyes but he said nothing.

“You cannot wed me,” she said to Euron.

His grip became like iron, digging into her flesh. Dany was reminded of Viserys, of the day of her wedding to Drogo.

“I can,” he said, his smile as sharp as any dagger. “You will be my queen and you will bear me sons.”

_He will do this whether I will it or no._

She looked into his face and knew that if she fought him he would hurt her. _I am the blood of the dragon._ There would be no sons, she knew that but to say so would make her seem wilful, not truthful. She lifted her chin and turned to face the gathered ironborn and in their midst, a priest ready to say the words to join her to Euron.

_He will die screaming._

Mayhaps they did have something in common. They both made their enemies pay the price for crossing them.

Dany would make certain Euron paid dearly for this.

_His time will come._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have changed the pov order I had planned and a teaser of what will now be chapter 110 has been posted on my tumblr.
> 
> http://madaboutasoiaf.tumblr.com/post/141821561339/im-posting-a-snippet-of-chapter-110-of-long-fic


	110. Chapter 110: Arya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been super busy so I'm challenged to find writing time. I'm still trying though so you'll still get updates, even if they are slower than I'd like

**Chapter 110**

Arya thought she knew cold but she was wrong. The cold as they travelled farther and farther North from Winterfell was the kind of cold that got into a person’s bones and made them feel they might never be warm again. Fire didn’t do much to help, and layers of furs only worked some but Arya did not care, not truly.

The cold made them all sleepy after only a few hours of marching in a day but it did not stop Arya pushing them to keep moving, always keep moving, even when daylight had faded and it got hard to see. The few Golden Company men that were with them were the last to start grumbling but even they had had enough after a while. Some of the northmen said she was worse than Stannis.

Arya just ignored that.

It was all worth it when she got her first glimpse of the Wall. The sight of it brought tears to her eyes, tears that froze on her lashes and could not be blinked away. She had to rub her eyes and she urged her horse on faster because the Wall was close, still a distance away but close enough to be seen and the Wall meant Jon and Arya wanted to see him so badly, to have him smile at her and hug her, and make everything feel alright even though it wasn’t.

She hated it when they camped for the night. That was when the loneliness began to gnaw away at her. She left Cara behind in Winterfell. Her friend would have come if Arya asked but Arya knew Cara did not want to. Brienne stayed close and Arya was grateful to have her company once more, to hear her honest words and to know that even if she could see lies there were still some who had honour. She thought her father would have liked Brienne.

As close as the Lady of Tarth was, Arya still felt alone. She huddled in her furs at night, listening to Thoros at his night fires. The northmen joined him for warmth but they did not like him there. They only tolerated him because Thoros did not burn anybody, did not speak of burning anybody, unlike Melisandre. The farther north they came, the less he said of anything. Arya tried to prod him into speaking but unless she gave him something to drink he barely did.

All he wanted to do was look into his flames with a troubled expression and speak valyrian that even Arya could not understand, some kind of R’hllor prayer she supposed.

The Skagosi were just as troubled, afraid as they approached the wall but determined. _The only time a man can be brave is if he is afraid._ Bran told her that and Father told Bran and seeing their faces, hearing their stories, Arya thought it was true. She wandered amongst her men while they were still awake, seeing their unhappiness, knowing they did not want to be going north and knowing that they must.

“You can hardly blame them,” Haldon told her. “This is a folly.”

He did not want to be there either.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” she said, wounded even if she managed to keep her face still.

“Aye,” he said dryly. “Yet here I am.”

_He follows me because Aegon told him to._

Duck had stayed with her on orders too but Duck had been different. Duck smiled at her and did things to make her laugh. Haldon was her friend but he did not hide his bitterness. She wished Duck was with her, smiling and calling her little even though she wasn’t but Duck was gone and that hurt. It hurt to remember all the people who were gone.

“Go back,” she said. “I don’t need you.”

“You do,” Haldon said with a thin smile. “I’ll stay.”

A thin smile was better than none.

She lay alone in her bed, hating when all the people went quiet. The raven followed her and spoke sometimes, but that was during the day. Bran seemed distant and it worried her. She willed herself to sleep, reached for Nymeria when that didn’t work and spent her night as a wolf. Being the night wolf made her feel strong, it made everything feel better for a little while. She had her little grey cousins with her, not as many as in the south but still a pack, and together they ran and hunted and tried to find something to fill their empty bellies.

She left the direwolf well before dawn, hurrying to get everybody moving again, to push north and fast. The excitement of that first glimpse of the Wall faded quickly for everybody but Arya as they rode for days longer still, days which were shorter in the North and darker and ever colder. The snow drifts were deeper and the road not much more than a worn path buried where they couldn’t even see it but it was a path towards Jon and unlike all Arya’s other attempts, this time she was going to make it to the place she wanted to go.

Castle Black seemed to appear almost suddenly. Arya was looking at the Wall, at how dark it looked when she felt Nymeria and through her saw Ghost. The white direwolf was leagues from the Wall and Arya couldn’t see much in front with so many men surrounding her but she glimpsed the stone towers and timber keeps through the sharp eyes of the raven. It was only a brief moment but in that moment she felt Bran’s urgency, fleeing through darkness.

“What is it your grace?” Brienne asked.

Arya took a steadying breath. Any triumph she might have felt at being so close was gone with the knowledge that one of her other brothers was in trouble. _I should be helping him._ She did not know where he was though, and he was still north of the Wall.

“I see Castle Black.”

Brienne smiled hesitantly and Arya made herself smile too. She guided her horse to move a little faster, even though the poor beast was already struggling.

“I want to get there first,” she told those near her.

They let her go, no doubt knowing by now that there was no point arguing with her. Brienne kept by her side and she had other guards too, even if she did not need them. It was not Arya who was in danger and nobody was going to stop her from seeing Jon as soon as she possibly could.

*

Jon met her in the yard. The priestess Melisandre was with him but Arya only gave her minimal attention, just enough to keep an eye on her. Men of the Night’s Watch gathered there too, looking at her curiously. Arya offered her greetings, introduced her companions then turned her whole focus to Jon.

“I missed you,” she blurted.

He smiled at her, just the way she remembered but she did not remember him looking so strained, or the sadness in his eyes, or the way the moment he spoke she knew he was hiding something.

“I missed you,” he said gently, offering her his arm.

Arya watched him as they walked. She could feel the tension in him.

“I brought Needle with me,” she said.

Jon laughed and when he looked down at the little sword on her hip his smile reached his eyes. It didn’t last though. Arya held her tongue as they climbed the stairs. A steward opened the door and Jon showed her into his quarters. She waited for the door to close then hit him in the arm, hard.

 “You shouldn’t have told me to stay away, stupid.”

Jon flinched.

“The Wall is not your place-“

“My _place_ is with _you_ ,” Arya said fiercely. “I should have come sooner. I wanted to.” She put her arms around him, holding him tightly and pressing her face into his chest. “You make me think you don’t you don’t want me here.”

Jon hugged her then, a proper hug like the ones he used to give her in Winterfell.

“I always wanted you with me.”

Her eyes filled with tears then and he held her while she cried, not saying anything. Arya didn’t know what she cried for, her mother, her father, Robb, or even herself. All she knew was with Jon she _could_ cry and she felt his hand in her hair and knew it was messy and that just made her cry more. She didn’t let go of him until she stopped, until her sobs became hiccups instead and then she sniffled and sat with him.

“I need to stay here.”

Jon shook his head.

“You can’t,” he said determinedly.

“You need me,” she said, hating that she sounded like a child. He _did_ need her.

“The Watch does need men,” he admitted. “The men you brought will help.”

“Women can fight too,” she argued.

He sighed, a resigned sigh.

“Your place is with Rickon and Sansa.”

He was going to send her back. He needed her and he was still going to send her back. Arya wasn’t having it, not after everything she had gone through to finally make it here and not with what she knew he faced.

“You’re my brother too,” she said fiercely.

He pulled away from her.

“I’m not.”

The words hurt more than almost anything Arya had ever had said to her, most of all because she could see Jon meant it. She wanted to cry again and Jon looked contrite.

“Arya I didn’t mean that.”

She drew on all her teachings, everything learned at the House of Black and White and stood, making her face a mask, hiding her hurt and her anger.

“You did but you’re still not getting rid of me. I’m staying, I’m going to go and look at the Wall and when I come back you’re not going to be so stupid.”

She didn’t stay to hear his reply, letting his door bang louder behind her than she meant to on her way out.

*

It was windy on top of the Wall, and even colder. One of the Night’s Watch men looked at Arya in a way she did not like as she opened the cage door and hopped down onto the ice. Her blades were ready if she needed them but she hoped she wouldn’t. It would not be a good start if she had to hurt one of Jon’s brothers on her first day there.

 _Maybe that was what he meant_ she thought. The black brothers were his brothers, she knew that and she hadn’t said the vows. She remembered his face and shook her head. It wasn’t that, he meant that Arya wasn’t his sister and no matter what had happened she did not understand how he could say that to her. They were the only ones to have their father’s face, the ones who didn’t fit. Jon was there for her always, her favourite person and he had always loved her no matter what.

_He still loves me, even if he did say he wasn’t my brother._

She stood close to the edge, the wind whipping her hair around her face even with her hood up. She faced North, not South, searching the trees to see if anything was out there. Nothing moved and there was no sound, no sound from below but Arya felt the sudden warmth behind her, the unnatural heat and she knew who was there.

“I’m not afraid of you priestess.”

She turned and Melisandre smiled.

“I do not want your fear Arya.”

“Liar,” Arya said immediately. “You want everybody to fear you.”

She took one step, then another and saw the ruby glow. She reached out to touch it and Melisandre’s hands came up, defensive but too late. It was warm to the touch, and the moment her fingers made contact she saw the priestess’ secrets, the tattoo on her cheek, the age spots on her skin, the pale, wiry, thinning hair. She pulled her hand back just as Melisandre dove her hand inside one of her pockets.

“Don’t,” she said quickly. “I’m not going to tell.”

The priestess hesitated, then her hand rose to the ruby.

“You have your own secrets.”

“We all have secrets,” Arya said, thinking of Jon and how he had looked in the yard.

“Jon Snow has learned of his mother,” Melisandre said, almost as though she read Arya's thoughts. “It is keeping him from following his path. He needs you.”

Arya took a step back. _I didn’t tell him about his mother._ She had meant to but he had been telling her she wasn’t meant for the Wall and she had been focused on that, on how she wouldn’t leave him, not again.

“He has me,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The priestess gave her a sad smile.

“You will have to leave, and soon.”

Arya didn’t want to know what the woman thought she had seen this time. She didn’t argue though, not now. So much had happened since she had last seen Melisandre. It had changed her. There had been so much pain, and loss. Sansa was safe now and Rickon and Jon was alive even if he was acting strangely….

“Why didn’t Jon change?” she asked. “You brought him back.”

 _I never thanked her._ She might have if the priestess had not been telling Jon lies, if she had not been influencing him in a way she shouldn’t.

“He did not die,” Melisandre replied, “Not in the way others die. He is changed even if you do not see it, he is marked, but he had his wolf.”

_He was in Ghost._

“Those who die are not meant to come back,” she said slowly, thinking of her mother. “It doesn’t matter how much we miss them.”

Even as she said it she knew that Jon was different.

“The prophecy spoke of him, not Stannis.”

Arya did not want to hear it.

“You’re wrong. The prophecy was about a Targaryen. It was about Daenerys.”

Arya had heard so much of Daenerys when she was in Essos. She knew better than to believe all of it but she knew some of the truth and the truth fit the prophecy better than Stannis and certainly better than Jon. Daenerys Targaryen hatched dragons. She freed slaves and conquered cities and was said to be the most beautiful woman in the world. Arya had hoped to meet her. She had hoped to be as strong as the dragon queen, to make as much of a difference. She had always wanted to see a dragon but that was before she returned to the North, before she had duties and people to protect. It was also before Aegon. Now when she thought of Daenerys she thought of him as well, of the two of them together. She did not like to think of that. There was also something else.

_I do not want her to think of the North as a place to conquer._

Melisandre smiled, a smile of amusement that annoyed Arya.The ruby glowed again and Arya ignored the glamour.

“I have seen Daenerys,” Melisandre said quietly. “I have seen both her and Jon Snow.”

“Thoros sees things too,” Arya threw back at her. “At least he only tells if he knows for true.”

Melisandre said nothing, just looking at Arya, almost as though she looked _into_ her. Arya didn’t like it. She grasped her finger knife in one hand, even if she did not mean to use it and tugged her cloak around her with the other.

“Tell me,” the Priestess murmured. “Has Thoros of Myr seen you?”

Arya opened her mouth to say no then remembered something Thoros said. He had been looking into his night fire and Arya had said he did not know what she must do. _I’m aware of more than you know child._ He wouldn’t speak with her now, barely looked at her.

“You are not afraid of me,” Melisandre said. “I cannot say I do not fear you, child.”

“I’m not a child,” Arya snapped.

She was sixteen the next moon, old enough to be wed to Lord Manderly, even if she did not wish it. She knew she would have to go back. She wanted to help Jon but after she would have to go back and Lord Manderly would be waiting for her. She knew what would be expected of her after a wedding, Lord Wyman would think he had rights as husband. When she thought of it she knew she could not let him put his hands on her.

_I’ll never let him touch me, even if I do have to say the words._

Melisandre was still looking at her and the expression on her face reminded Arya a little of the Ghost of High Heart. _Dark heart_ , she remembered.

“I’m not whatever you think I am,” she told her.

The priestess did not seem to believe her.

“You will need to make choices Arya Stark,” Melisandre told her. “I pray that you will choose well.”

*

Jon looked relieved when he opened the door to his quarters.

“I began to worry you had decided to join the wildlings.”

She knew that wasn’t what worried him but the poor jape was better than him saying he wasn’t her brother again.

“Tormund did say I’d make a good spearwife.”

She hesitated and Jon put his arm around her, prodding her to go with him. She sat when prompted.

“I saw Melisandre.”

Jon’s face was still but Arya could see he wasn’t happy.

“She says you know about your mother,” Arya said quickly. “I was going to tell you. I didn’t know you already knew.”

Jon’s face contorted into a queer expression.

“You know about my mother,” he said in a flat tone. “Does Aegon know?”

Arya was startled.

“No,” she said. “Ned Dayne told me, the Lord of Starfall. He said you and he are milk brothers, that Wylla nursed him because his mother had no milk.”

“Who is Wylla?”

Arya huffed impatiently.

“Your mother, I thought you knew this.”

He still had a queer expression.

“Wylla is not my mother.”

“Yes she is,” Arya argued. “Father met her in the war.”

Jon half smiled, half grimaced.

“Ned Stark did not father me with this Wylla.”

Arya’s blood ran cold as she saw the truth, saw what Jon didn’t say. She had spent too long with the waif to not see it. She felt stupid not to have seen it sooner but this was _Jon_ and her father didn’t lie.

“Father isn’t your father? He has to be. You’re my brother, his son. He said so.”

Jon was hurting, Arya could see it. She reached for him, moving quickly to hold him. He was shaking his head, and he had tears in his eyes and Arya hugged him and pressed kisses to his face.

“You’re still my brother.”

“I’m not,” he said in a choked voice. “He lied, my mother made him. Lyanna.”

Arya shushed him and held him. She didn’t believe at first, thinking somebody must have made a mistake. Jon believed it, she could see that but Jon couldn’t see lies the way she could. It wasn’t until Jon tried to explain, until she heard the name Howland Reed that she knew, remembering the way her father’s friend had looked at her. He had been pale, and so sad about her aunt and he had tried to warn Arya but Arya wouldn’t listen because Arya wasn’t her aunt, no matter how much people said they looked alike.

_Father must have loved her fiercely, to lie for her._

She thought of her mother and realised what it meant.  _He never dishonoured himself._ He had said he had though, lived with people thinking he had, even though honour was important to him. Nobody had questioned it, not when Jon had the Stark look. Arya thought they both had her father's look.

_Jon looks like his mother._

“Father loved you,” she said determinedly, even as she felt angry with her father for lying. “We all do and we’ll never stop. You’ll always be my brother.”

It made sense now, why her father wouldn’t talk about it. Arya wished he were there, wished her father could tell Jon what she was telling him. _He said some lies are not without honour._ The lie still hurt though, hurt her too even though she hid it. What she told Jon was the truth. He would always be her brother. He would always be the person who loved her best, who accepted her, who gave her Needle.

“Why did you choose him?” Jon said after a while.

Arya couldn’t see his face. His voice sounded a little brittle and Arya knew he was thinking of his mother, of what going to Rhaegar had done to her. _It isn’t at all the same._ Lord Connington had spoken of Rhaegar and Aegon was so different to his father in so many ways. She was still holding Jon so she let go to look at him properly, to help him understand.

“All the parts of me that I was always taught were wrong are the parts he loves most. How could I not choose him when he sees what I am and loves me still?” She cupped Jon’s cheek. “He is the only person other than you to make me feel like I fit somewhere.”

Jon smiled and Arya saw it, the resemblance. _They smile the same, especially when they’re sad._ She wasn’t going to tell him though, not now. She knew this meant Aegon was his brother by blood but Jon wasn’t fond of him, not yet. Jon always wanted to be a Stark, she could see he still wanted to be a Stark. He was a wolf like her, and that wouldn’t change.

“Don’t stop calling me little sister,” she told him firmly.

He nodded solemnly and reached out to touch her hair.

“That must make it easier for when you are getting yourself scraped and windblown.”

Arya kissed his cheek again, loving him all the more for not judging her for it.

“It does.”


	111. Chapter 111: Daenerys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been ridiculous, hence this update taking so long. I had a nice bit of time off though so I got back into my notes and got a fair bit of writing happening and here it is :)

**Daenerys**

Her new husband could be charming. Dany might not have loathed him if he had not wed her against her will. They were wed though and Dany was not fooled by Euron’s smiles and sweet words, she knew she was a prisoner.

“You will give me a son,” he told her, still smiling.

_When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,_ Dany thought. He was pouring a substance into two cups and Dany took a step back as he held one out to her to drink. He took a swallow from the other, leaving a fresh stain of blue on his lips.

“I prefer wine,” she said, determined not to cringe before him.

Euron laughed, amused.

“Drink,” he commanded.

She took the cup and hesitated. The visions from the House of the Undying still haunted her and she still did not understand what they meant. She did not need more riddles to solve and she could not forget the Undying preying upon her but they were not here now, they held no power over her. Pyat Pree was dead and Euron had emptied his cup and Dany wanted to understand what she had seen before and she would not be afraid.

She drank.

It tasted as foul as before but as she swallowed it became sweet. She watched her husband. _He knows nothing of this game he is playing._ Euron’s eye betrayed the effect of the drug and he reached out for something Dany could not see and laughed once more. She wondered what he saw as she sat the cup down and waited for it to take effect.

She was surprised when Euron left her. She watched the door, wary, and stepped toward it before a voice called out behind her and she whirled to face it. The figure was familiar, hooded, wearing a lacquered mask.

“Quaithe?”

_Is she really there?_ Dany doubted it. Missandei never saw her even before and now…

“The glass candles are burning Daenerys.”

She had said that before. Dany reached out to touch her and felt nothing.

“You said you would show me the way,” Dany said. “Tell me what I need to do.”

Quaithe seemed to be melting away, disappearing before Dany’s eyes.

“Remember who you were made to be.”

Dany had heard it before, after she left Meereen the first time and before she returned to Vaes Dothrak. _Fire and Blood._ She remembered, she had not forgotten, not for a moment of the long journey to Westeros. _Does she mean Westeros? Does she mean reclaiming the throne and the realm?_ It had been what Viserys always said they were meant for. Now that she was here she did not feel so certain.

She looked at the closed door again and moved toward the bed, to sit and to close her eyes. When she opened them her surroundings seemed to shift and she saw an old man, a familiar vision, with his long silvery grey hair. He wore a crown, a crown described to her by Ser Barristan.

“Let him be the king of ashes.”

_My father._ She didn’t want to see this, not again, not after what she had been told of him. She closed her eyes, took a breath, opened them and heard the words again.

“Let them rule over ashes.”

It wasn’t her father now but a woman, beautiful, with golden hair cut short. Dany did not understand and just when she wanted to see more the woman was gone. She smelled flowers, a sweet smell but she couldn’t see anything until she closed her eyes and then she saw blue roses and heard the familiar words “the dragon has three heads.”

It was dark when she opened her eyes, a darkness that felt almost suffocating and her breath misted. It went on and on, with no end and no warmth and no sign of life, just dread coiling in the pit of her stomach because something was out there in the darkness, something evil and Dany knew she could not face it alone.

“Who,” she called out. “I don’t know who it must be.”

The answer felt comforting, like Quaithe returning to her.

“The dragons know.”

_The dragons._ Viserion and Rhaegal would tell her, they would know the men who were meant to be by her side. _Not Euron_ she thought determinedly as the darkness finally gave way. _I could never love Euron._ He might be charming but he wasn’t Daario, or Drogo.

_My sun and stars._

He appeared to her then, as if he heeded her call and Dany smiled to see him.

“You have returned to me.”

It wasn’t real, she knew it but when she kissed him it felt real. It felt real when she touched him, when he touched her and Dany didn’t want to wake, didn’t want him to go. She had been so lonely. His hands were familiar, strong, insistent. He gripped her tightly, too tightly and it hurt. She tried to make him yield, to take control as she had before but he did not heed her.

“No,” she told him.

It wasn’t right. Drogo loved her and made her a queen. His hands weren’t rough on her like these hands, not after his seed quickened. _He did hurt you,_ a voice whispered in her head. _You have forgotten Daenerys._ She felt bile rising in her throat and struggled harder. He smiled and it was then that she saw his lips were blue and Dany broke away, running as fast as she could but it wasn’t fast enough, not nearly fast enough to forget.

A red door loomed up in front of her and Dany pounded on it, begging to be let in. Nobody answered her and she fell to her knees, defeated until she saw a dragon fly overhead.

_Fire and blood_ , she thought as it all began to fade.

*

Dany woke alone, on the cold floor of the chamber from the night before. Her head hurt and the memories of what she saw lingered, making it difficult to determine which parts were real. Her body didn’t hurt aside from the stiffness in her joints from the cold and that much was a relief. She got to her feet and moved unsteadily to the bed.

She wondered where Euron was. Even if she did not want to see him it seemed odd that he did not come to her, to claim his rights now that they were wed. There would be no sons but Euron did not know that. She tried to stay awake but it was no use. She slept again before long and woke to find food by her bed. She ate then slept, waking fitfully only to fall asleep again. It was hard to tell how much time had passed when she woke and felt truly awake, making her wonder if she had been drugged beyond the substance Euron gave her.

She stumbled a little as she rose, unsteady on her feet and listening for any sign of Drogon outside. If her dragon was near he made no sound. She found men on the other side of the door. One looked at her with disdain but the other, an older man with greying hair, seemed rather uncertain. Dany stood as tall as she could to face them.

“Tell me where Euron is.”

The uncertain one opened his mouth but a look from the other silenced him. She could see a resemblance to Euron. _One is his kin, mayhaps a bastard son._ The other looked to be almost a noble, or what passed as noble amongst ironborn.

“I remind you I am your queen,” she said firmly.

“Our king is sitting the Seastone chair,” the older man said.

The younger gave him a sharp look.

“I trust that my lord husband is not troubled,” Dany said sweetly.

The older man’s expression told her plenty, even if he did not speak. He almost looked like he might kneel before the other stopped him. _I shall uncover the tale soon enough_ , she thought determinedly. She began to walk down the passage and the younger man moved to bar her way.

“Do you fear me so much that you dare not let me leave the bed chamber?” she challenged him.

His fingers twitched and Dany knew he wished to strike her.

“The king does not wish to be disturbed,” he said.

“I won’t disturb him,” Dany assured him. “There will be time enough for that.”

_I promise he will be plenty disturbed by the time I am done._

The man reluctantly let her pass. She walked along one passage, passing more men along the way. None stopped her but she felt them watching her. She did not know the castle but she kept moving. She did not hear word of Euron but she caught whispers, murmurings of dragons, and saw flickers of fear, of unrest.

_Drogon_ , she thought with a surge of triumph.

After a time she passed fewer people, and just when she thought she had made a wrong turn she found a partly open door. When she looked inside it appeared empty. Strange shadows marked the wall, light that did not flicker and colours that were brighter than bright. She stepped through the door and saw a lone candle burning.

A scuffling sound behind her made her startle and Dany whirled, tense. The fat man she had seen when she first ender Pyke quailed before her.

“W-we’re not meant to be in here.”

Dany looked at him curiously. He did not fit in. He did not look to be ironborn.

“You are a prisoner?”

He nodded and pushed the door shut.

“I’m meant to be a maester,” he babbled, sounding miserable. “The Wall needs a maester. I’m a man of the Night’s Watch.”

His chin lifted a little as he spoke of the Watch, a note of pride even as his voice still trembled.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Sam. Samwell Tarly,” he mumbled, looking at his boots.

Dany knew the name. _Marwyn spoke of him. He is the reason Marwyn came to me._ He wouldn’t hurt her, that much Dany knew. She extended a hand towards him.

“I am-“

“Daenerys,” he blurted. “I know. Maester Aemon wanted to go to you.”

_Aemon._ Marwyn spoke of Aemon Targaryen too. Dany wished she had met him. Maester Aemon might have been able to tell her so much about her family and about Westeros. He could have helped her make sense of Aegon being here, of how he lived and yet did not seek her. He might have told her what to do when she was a queen in Essos, and thought herself the last of her name and queen of Westeros only to return and find her nephew was crowned king. Aemon dreamed of dragons, just like her. He might have been able to make sense of the riddles and prophecies confusing her but she could not dwell on that now.

 “Why are you here?” she asked Samwell. “Why are we not meant to be here?”

She had a suspicion. She wanted him to confirm it. He did not answer immediately.

“Euron got called away. He forgot me and I thought… The candle,” he admitted. “I wanted to try again, to see if it would work.”

“A glass candle,” she whispered.

Sam moved toward it, blinking and Dany joined him. He looked at the flame intently.

“Dragonglass candles can be used to send messages,” he whispered. “Sorcerers used them to see half a world away, to enter dreams and give visions.” He shook his head. “I never see anything.”

_Quaithe._ It made sense now. Dany looked into the flame until she saw spots but nothing appeared.

“Why was Euron called away,” she asked.

“Oldtown was attacked,” Sam replied. “They say it is a dragon. Euron is wroth.”

She felt a surge of hope. It couldn’t be Drogon, her black dragon would not leave her now. He would be near, she was certain of it. Euron controlled Viserion, that much was plain. It could only be Rhaegal and Rhaegal would not attack Oldtown without guidance. Euron wanted her third dragon but if Rhaegal attacked Oldtown it could only mean that one of her people urged him to act. Somebody she cared for had unleashed the dragon on the ironborn.

“Who rides the dragon?”

“Euron only names him the pretender,” Sam whispered. “He’ll kill him.”

Dany’s heart skipped a beat. _Aegon rides Rhaegal._ She did not know how she felt about it. She did care for him, despite her disappointment and anger but her fears remained. _What will he do now he has one of my dragons?_ The fear seemed more of a trifle now that Euron claimed Viserion. Aegon was not at all like Euron, Dany knew that. He had a kind heart but a reckless impulsive streak and if he felt wronged Dany did not know that he would not inflict horrors upon the people once he finished with the ironborn.

_He has not seen what I have seen. He does not understand how easily innocents can suffer from a dragon’s wroth._

He would not have full command of the dragon. He might not get the chance to do much of anything if Euron found him. The ironborn pretender rode Viserion as well as Dany rode Drogon. She focused on the candle once more, unsure who she might contact if it even worked. She tried to be patient but she grew desperate.

“Who do you wish to send a message to?” she asked Sam.

“The Lord Commander,” he said immediately. “Jon Snow. He can’t help but I wanted him to know… I need him to know where I am.”

Dany had her own people to contact, people who _could_ help. She could call Aegon, warn him but if she brought him here she risked Euron capturing Rhaegal. She thought of Ser Barristan. The loss of him still hurt. Her Dothraki would not want to sail again but the Unsullied could come to her aid. She could try to contact Grey Worm, or Missandei. Tyrion Lannister might find a way but she did not know who might listen to her if she was not there, not present in the room with them.

“Would Jon Snow listen?” she asked.

Sam nodded. Dany wondered what sort of man the Lord Commander was if he believed in sorcery.

“You say he cannot help,” Dany said wistfully.

“He is my friend,” Sam said. “He will do what is in his power.”

She did not know Jon Snow, did not know what he might be capable of but it clearly meant a lot to Sam.

Dany reached out to touch the candle. It gave off no warmth and the flame did not burn her. The top of the candle burned but did not melt and as she touched it, it pierced the skin of her fingertip, sharply enough to draw blood.

“Valyrian sorcery was rooted in blood and fire,” Sam whispered beside her. His eyes were round when Dany looked at him.

“Fire and blood,” she whispered, watching as a droplet fell from her finger into the flame of the candle.

The castle all but disappeared in an instant, fading into the background as Dany saw beyond it. Drogon flew above it, screaming his fury at the skies. She paused above the castle, longing to be truly there, watching the dragon and he swooped low, as if to land on the tower right in front of her.

_He sees me._

She knew then what she needed to do but curiosity made her keep looking, farther and farther. She could hear Sam speaking to her, hear his excitement, hear him saying _North_ and she tried to look North, past castles and rivers, where the snow fell in drifts and it grew darker. She told Sam what she saw and he urged her on, to the castle that wasn’t a true castle at all and she looked for the man he described, the man Jon Snow but it wasn’t him he saw at all. It was a girl, long faced, with the saddest dark grey eyes. Dany recognised her from the vision Benerro showed her but in the vision Arya Stark did not look miserable. It the vision she wasn’t clutching a blade in her hand and whispering a prayer.

Dany listened, not wanting to intrude. The girl did not seem to see her.

_Mayhaps it is because I do not wish to be seen._

“You gods keep Bran safe,” the girl whispered. “You keep them all safe.”

She shot to her feet suddenly, quicker than Dany had seen almost anybody move and brandished the blade toward Dany, her expression shifting to one of focus and determination.

“I can hear you breathing,” she hissed. “I don’t need to see you to know you’re there. If you’ve come for Jon I’ll kill you. I don’t care if you’re already dead.”

She was afraid, Dany could hear it even if Arya didn’t look scared. She tried to decide what to say but before she could she was back in Pyke, back with Sam and he was looking at her with eyes as big as eggs.

“Did you see Jon?”

Dany shook her head.

“I saw a girl, Arya Stark.”

Sam looked surprised.

“Arya is his sister. I heard her, she thought you were a wight.”

Dany didn’t get the chance to ask what he meant. The door creaked and they both jumped to their feet. Dany ran to stand behind it and urged him to follow. The handle turned and it opened, but only a crack.

“It matters little,” Euron said on the other side. His tone did not match his words. Dany could hear the anger in his voice. “He will not be victorious for long and I know where to find him. He thinks to cow the unrest in Kings Landing with that dragon. He will die before he ever sits the Iron Throne again.”

She waited, holding her breath but he did not enter. She listened to his footsteps as he walked away.

_Euron is leaving._

Dany felt no relief that her new husband would not be there to claim her, not when she knew what he intended. _He will kill Aegon._ She did not doubt it and when he was done he would return for Daenerys, intent on using her to take the Iron Throne.

“I have to go to Drogon,” she whispered.

“They’ll never let you out the gates,” Sam said.

She shook her head and reached to take his hand in hers.

“I’m not going out the gates,” she told him. “Will you help me?”

Sam looked pale. “I don’t know how.”

“I do,” she said firmly. It had to wait until Euron was away, until the horn could not blow. “I’ll take us both from here,” she promised. “Just say you’ll meet me.”

He did not seem at all confident but then again neither was Dany, even if she did have a plan. He nodded and that was good enough for Dany.

*

She thought of Arya while she waited, back in her chambers once more. The girl wasn’t at all as Dany thought her to be. The people described her as fearless, a warrior queen but the girl Dany saw was not fearless. The girl Dany saw might be a warrior but she wore no crown and Dany kept hearing her prayer, the same desperate prayer Dany might have made for those she cared for.

She remembered Aegon’s defence when she accused him of favouring the North. _The Starks are not our enemies._ Tyrion said much the same, even with a certain bitterness in his tone. _Ser Barristan defended Ned Stark._ The smallfolk loved Arya. They spoke of her kindness and her generosity. They spoke of her caring when nobody else did, in a way no noble had ever done.

_If she will put aside her crown we need not be enemies._

She would ask Sam more, about wights and Starks and Jon Snow and the Night’s Watch but first they needed to leave. Dany made a fist.

_First I must show my new husband that I am nobody’s prisoner._

She waited until darkness fell before leaving the chambers again. Sam Tarly met her outside but he wasn’t alone. She thought for a heartbeat that he had betrayed her but then he smiled, an uncertain smile but a friendly one. She recognised one of his companions as the elder of the two men who guarded her door and others who were familiar to her, Victarion’s men who knew her from the voyage to Westeros.

The man who had been her guard lowered his head, speaking in a faltering voice.

“The kinslayer is accursed. He will not prevail, not when he fights against dragons and ironborn.”

He knelt and so did the other ironborn. _This is all part of a plan,_ she realised. _Euron cannot fight Aegon and keep his grip on the ironborn all at once._ She wondered who made the schemes. It seemed very like Tyrion but the ironborn were not likely to heed Tyrion.

_Casterly Rock and the Iron Islands are still enemies._

“Your grace,” one of Victarion’s former captains said. “Lady Asha sends her regards.”

She remembered Asha Greyjoy’s pleas for her people. _I must not judge all ironborn by Victarion and Euron._ She saw fear on their faces and one wore a bandage which only poorly concealed his burned arm and knew they freed her on account of far more than Lady Asha’s intervention and whatever scheming sent these men to her.

_With Euron gone they are at Drogon’s mercy._

Sam held a whip in his hands, _her_ whip and he was awkward trying to kneel but Dany stopped him, taking the whip from him and thanking him with all her heart.

“Rise,” she told the men on their knees. “Take me to the dragon.”

They led her up winding stairs and she noted them looking around warily. _They are too few._ She knew Euron must have loyal followers still, men willing to die for his cause. They came face to face with some and the men began to fight with one another, ironborn against ironborn. Dany looked up, to the door leading to the top of the tower.

_We’re so close._

Sam Tarly kept moving, calling back to her.

“We have to go.”

Dany started to follow, casting a glance back at the men fighting for her, dying for her. _There is nothing I can do for them here,_ she thought helplessly. Two managed to break free and accompany her and Dany ran, through the now open door and out into the night. The wind almost took her breath away and her woollens were gone but she kept moving, following the sounds of yelling and screaming.

“Drogon,” she called.

The dragon flew above a different tower. She could see his flame. _They’re trying to kill him,_ she realised. He screamed, a scream of anger and pain and Dany knew somebody had struck him, even if he did seem out of their range.

“Drogon,” she screamed.

He didn’t hear her but the men on the tower did, the lookouts. They came running, armed with axes and her last protectors moved in front of her. They killed one of the lookouts, then another before an axe caught one in the neck and the other fell to one knee, blood running red down his leg. Sam Tarly had an axe in his hands now but he was shaking, and Dany felt certain he did not know how to use it.

She closed her eyes, desperate for Drogon to hear her, to know she was there she cracked the whip in the air defensively and opened her mouth to call to him once more. The crack of his wings drowned out any sound she made as he hovered above the tower Dany stood on, his flame heating the air around her so that Dany no longer felt the cold. He did not distinguish between her injured protectors and the men fighting to stop her leaving and Dany reached out to Sam, pulling him close to her.

“Stay with me,” she told him.

Drogon landed, awkward as he clawed his way across the stone and Dany cracked the whip again, making certain he saw her. He roared again and Dany saw where his scales were lifted at his neck, where black blood had dried from a bolt piercing his flesh. She ran to him, climbing onto his back and checking him over to be certain there was nothing more.

“Daenerys.”

Sam Tarly stood where she left him, pale and shrinking back as Drogon moved.

“You have to come with me,” she urged him. “They will kill you for helping me.”

He shook his head.

“Jon told me I wasn’t to say I’m a craven anymore,” he said. “But I am.”

“A craven would not have helped me,” she told him. She could see men approaching and knew they did not have long. “He won’t hurt you,” she said, trying to sound certain. Her voice sounded thin and panicked. Drogon hadn’t hurt Aegon but Aegon was her kin. _I have to save him._ Too many had died to give her freedom.

“Just pretend you are not afraid.”

He still didn’t move closer so Dany urged Drogon to approach instead, keeping her whip ready in case Drogon mistook Sam for a foe. She held out her hand, hoping he’d take it and hoping even more that he would not pull her from the dragon if he did.

“Maester Aemon wanted to ride a dragon,” he said miserably. “It should have been him not me. He was your family.”

It did no good thinking of what might have been, especially now. Dany turned the whip, cracking it at Sam instead and hoping it would make him move.

“Get on,” she shouted. “I’m not going without you.”

He jumped and gaped at her and Drogon snorted impatiently.

“You have to,” he stammered.

The ironborn were almost there, almost in striking range and Dany hesitated but Sam finally moved, awkwardly, almost knocking Dany off balance as he climbed onto Drogon’s back.

“It won’t be for long,” Dany promised. “I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

_I’ll take him to safety then I’ll go to Kings Landing, to face Euron and meet Aegon._

She urged Drogon to take flight and as he began to rise he bathed the approaching men in flame. Over the crack of dragon wings and the wind whipping around them she just barely caught Sam’s answer.

“There is nowhere safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You won't be waiting as long for the next one. It is an Arya pov and it is almost finished. I'll post it next weekend


	112. Chapter 112

**Arya**

Arya dreamed of her mother, of the cave. Catelyn Stark’s eyes accused her, and Arya didn’t want to kill her, not again. Her mother’s nails dug into her wrists and Arya pleaded with her, like a little girl but her mother wouldn’t let go and when she looked at the rope, at the noose, it was Jon hanging, Jon dying and Needle slipped between her mother’s ribs but Jon was still dying and Arya couldn’t save him, just like she couldn’t save her mother.

She heard him calling to her, calling her name.

“Arya, wake up.”

She opened her eyes to see Jon standing over her. _I must have fallen asleep in his chambers._ He looked concerned and Arya controlled her face, smiling for him.

“It was just a stupid dream.”

He sighed and his face became very still.

“I should not have told you so much.”

Arya shook her head. She had plenty to give her bad dreams and not just what Jon told her. She still felt unsettled by the sounds from earlier when Jon left her alone, the feeling of being watched, of somebody being there and she couldn’t see them but she heard them. She wasn’t going to tell Jon though. He wasn’t there and now it seemed nobody else was either but Arya knew what she heard.

“I wanted to know,” she said fiercely. “I’ll help you kill them. I don’t care if they’re already dead.”

That made him smile. She sat with him and they broke their fast together. They barely finished before Jon’s steward came and knocked at the door and announced that Tormund had arrived. Jon put on his lord’s face, like father used to.

“Send him to me,” he commanded.

Arya wanted to make him smile again but she knew he had important duties. She lingered, not wanting to leave. He gave her a questioning look.

“I want to see Tormund,” she said stubbornly. “I’ll go afterward.”

“To your chambers,” Jon said evenly.

“To the Wall,” Arya replied. “I want to help keep watch.”

He sighed.

“But who will keep watch over you?”

 _I don’t need to be watched_ , she thought. She knew he worried. He didn’t know enough and she wanted to tell him all but she couldn’t. Too many people knew already and she didn’t want Jon to be targeted. He faced enough danger.

“I won’t cause trouble,” she promised.

She tugged her cloak closer, trying to keep warm. Even with her woollens and coal burning in the braziers she still shivered. It was such a cold place but the people weren’t all cold, not Jon and his friends, and not the wildlings Arya befriended and that was what mattered. When Tormund came through the door and saw her he gave her a broad grin.

“The little sister,” he exclaimed.

Arya jumped to her feet.

“The Tall-talker,” she shot back.

He seemed pleased to see her. She had hoped he might but she wasn’t sure. She liked Tormund. He made her laugh and he said kind things about Jon when he visited Winterfell. He looked her up and down and made a noise through his teeth.

“Har!” he boomed. “I see why the lad is keeping you in here.”

Arya glanced at Jon. He flushed.

“I’m to be married,” she said flatly.

Jon tensed. _He knows I don’t want it._ They hadn’t talked about it yet, not properly. Arya just needed to see him first, to hug him and be near him and know what he faced. That was more important than her stupid betrothal.

Tormund winked at her.

“A mighty warrior is he? With a mighty sword to match?”

Arya hadn’t thought of Lord Wyman’s sword and she did not intend to think of it now.

“He is very clever,” she said, thinking quickly. “He has been loyal to my family.”

Tormund snorted, not seeming to think much of that. Arya told him the truth but it seemed he saw more of the truth than she wanted him to.

“So not a mighty warrior.”

“I don’t need to be protected,” she said hotly, as much for Jon as for Tormund.

“Who says you need protecting?” Tormund asked.

Jon cleared his throat. Tormund didn’t seem interested in taking the hint.

“If you don’t want him, why not put up a fight?”

“That isn’t how we do things,” Jon said quietly.

“What fools you kneelers be,” Tormund said.

Arya had nothing to say to that. Part of her thought he wasn’t wrong, even as he made Jon redden with talk of her not being wed yet and it not being too late. Jon wrestled the talk onto the topic of men, and castles, and weapons and Arya listened but her laughter at Tormund did not come as easily as it might have, not after being reminded of her betrothal.

She stuffed a piece of bread into a pouch to take with her as Tormund took his leave. The wildling had barely left when Jon moved to her side and put his hand on her arm.

“This betrothal, is there any other way?”

Arya loved him all the more for it. She had expected him to tell her that ladies married lords. Jon always knew how unfair everything was but he used to accept it, even if it made him unhappy.

“Lord Wyman’s gifts keep those in Winterfell from starving,” she said.

Jon’s face became very still.

“You thought his gifts would end if you refused him.”

She thought back to Lord Wyman’s proposal.

“He didn’t say it would end,” she said slowly. “He is sworn to serve Winterfell.”

Jon sat down and motioned for her to do the same. Arya pulled her chair closer to his and sat.

“He has done more than his duty,” he said.

Arya nodded.

“I know highborns have to make alliances,” she said softly. “I’m not stupid, I just don’t love him.”

She half expected Jon to laugh but he didn’t. _I sound like Sansa used to, like the songs she loved._ Jon sighed.

“Why did he choose you?”

Arya might have been hurt by it but one look at Jon told her he wasn’t asking why Lord Wyman chose her over other women. _He is asking why I’m the Stark Lord Wyman chose._

“He wanted Rickon to wed his granddaughter. Rickon doesn’t want to marry, he’s only a boy.”

“Highborns have to make alliances,” Jon reminded her. “Rickon would not have been expected to marry yet.”

Arya plucked at a loose thread on her cloak, trying not to chew her lip.

“He didn’t want the Manderly girl at all,” she said. “I wasn’t going to make him.”

Jon sighed again.

“I suppose you would be unhappy in any marriage.”

Arya shook her head.

“I wanted to choose,” she whispered.

She saw him frown and knew what he was going to say. He was going to ask about Aegon again. Arya didn’t want to talk about Aegon. _I never could marry him._ She knew of Daenerys before she even met Aegon and Arya wasn’t meant to be a queen, not in the North and definitely not in the south. Jon opened his mouth but before he could speak a raven flew through his window and began to quork at him. Jon swatted at it impatiently as it shrieked “Snow” at him and Arya jumped to her feet in alarm, reaching out to protect the bird.

“Don’t hurt him.”

He looked at her as though she had gone mad and the raven flew to her, perching on her arm as she held it out. She could feel the pinch of claws through the layers of wool.

“That is Lord Commander Mormont’s raven,” he said. “Sam taught it to say my name. The wretch just wants corn.”

Arya remembered Sam Tarly briefly from Braavos. Jon spoke of him fondly and Arya wished now that she had spoken to him more.

“He doesn’t just want corn,” she said as the bird ruffled its feathers. “He’s talking to you.”

“Arya,” the bird shrieked.

Jon’s eyes widened. Arya tried not to wince at the raven shifting its stance. The bird was much bigger than the one travelling with her.

“You know about skinchangers Jon.”

“Aye,” he said. “One almost took my eye.”

Arya needed him to understand. She wished Bran was with them now, not just in the bird. If he told Jon it would be different.

“I’m not just a warg,” she confessed to him.

He didn’t seem surprised. It made her feel bolder.

“It feels best with Nymeria but there are other animals,” she said. “Cats like me but ravens are good too. Ravens can speak.”

She saw Jon staring at the bird, thinking.

“Rickon is a warg too,” he said quietly.

“We all are,” Arya blurted. “All but Sansa because of Lady.” She took a deep breath. “Bran most of all,” she said quickly. “He is a skinchanger too.”

Jon’s eyes widened.

“Bran is alive?” He stood up abruptly and flexed his fingers. “I wondered… after Rickon. I thought I saw Summer once.”

“Bran is alive,” Arya confirmed.

“Alive,” the raven cried.

Arya urged the bird off her arm. It flew only as far as Jon’s desk, knocking over an ink well.

“He’s been trying to speak to you.”

Jon tried to rescue the ink, his forehead creased in a frown. He watched the bird as it echoed her. She could tell he felt uncertain.

“He’s our brother,” Arya told him. “He only wants us to listen to him.”

Jon retrieved some corn, offering it to the bird. Arya almost wanted to laugh even though nothing was really funny. She knew Bran was troubled even though she had no link to this bird. He was hopeful last she sensed him but so afraid and she knew the Others followed him, the ones Jon told her about. _The ones from Old Nan’s stories._ It made Arya afraid too.

The raven quorked, quietly now and Arya knew it was just her and Jon again.

“I wish Bran was here with us,” she said miserably.

She didn’t want to think of the Others catching him, of Bran returning with blue eyes that weren’t Tully blue and icy cold skin. She didn’t want to think of having to kill another person she loved, to put another at peace. It didn’t hurt any less if they were already dead.

“I wish that too,” Jon whispered.

Arya moved to his side once more and kissed his cheek before leaving his chambers to keep watch like she said she would. She moved quickly, hoping she might see another bird, hear it call to her and know Bran was near her still but well before she reached the top of the Wall she knew he was gone.

*

She hunted with her white brother. They ran together, him smaller than her but faster and they ran together the way they were meant to, the way it was always supposed to be because her little grey cousins might be her pack but they weren’t her family, not in the same way her brother was. He might be smaller than her but he was bigger than all the others, stronger and faster and he knew the way better than her, knew how to find prey and together they shared the kill, putting just enough in their bellies to keep the hunger at bay a while longer.

Arya woke in the chambers Jon gave her. She felt alone even if she wasn’t. Brienne should have been sleeping nearby but her bed was empty. _She is standing guard._ Arya tried to tell her she didn’t have to but Brienne didn’t listen. She just gave Arya a stubborn look.

“I will keep you safe, your grace.”

Arya stretched and got to her feet, quickly pulling on warmer clothes. She stayed dressed to sleep here but the cold outside cut through her no matter how much she wore. She rifled through the chest she brought with her, uncovering the sword packed inside. It was almost a twin to the one she kept close, valyrian steel but with a lion’s head for the pommel. She put the two of them side by side.

_My father’s sword._

She had thought about giving the second one to Rickon but he loved the sword he had. _Gendry made it for him._ It was a good sword and Rickon gave it a good name, Wolf’s Bite. She looked at the swords again and chewed her lip. Jon told her valyrian steel could kill the Others. She felt torn trying to decide about the swords.

She put them back in wrappings and picked them up, taking them with her as she left the chambers. Brienne was on the other side of the door and they walked together down the steps out of the tower. The Maid of Tarth didn’t ask her what she intended, she just stayed by Arya’s side and Arya was grateful for her presence.

It wasn’t a long walk. She heard the sound of a hammer on steel as they drew close and hesitated. _He might not be happy to see me._ Arya knew she judged him harshly last she saw him. She took a breath and Brienne took the swords from her to let her push the door open.

It was hot in the forge and Gendry seemed intent on his work but the opening of the door must have alerted him to their presence because he turned to look at them. He pushed sweaty hair out of his eyes and blinked at her.

“I thought I might see you.”

He didn’t smile but he didn’t seem unhappy either.

“You joined the Night’s Watch,” she said.

He only shrugged. He dropped the sword he was working on into water, making it hiss and set the tongs down.

“I was meant for the Watch when we met.”

“Jon says you’re one of the best,” Arya told him.

He still didn’t smile but he stood a little straighter.

“I’m where I’m meant to be,” he said. “The Watch defends the realm.”

Arya smiled and Gendry half smiled back. She turned to Brienne and retrieved the swords, holding them out to Gendry. He frowned at them.

“These used to be one sword,” she said. “I hoped-“

“-I can’t forge valyrian steel,” Gendry said abruptly. “I don’t know the spells even if I could forge the metal.”

Arya kept the disappointment from showing on her face. She took the swords back abruptly, feeling stupid. Brienne gave her a look of pity and that made it even worse. She passed one sword to her, knowing she needed to accept that Ice was gone.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” she said stiffly. “We need more valyrian swords, not less.”

“That’s true we need more swords,” Gendry said softly. “All the valyrian steel and obsidian we can get.”

“Aegon sent obsidian,” Arya said, remembering.

Gendry’s expression darkened.

“Aegon isn’t here.”

Arya wished she hadn’t mentioned his name. She didn’t need to be reminded of his absence.

“Aegon needs to wed his aunt,” she said defensively.

_He needs to stop there being another war._

Gendry screwed up his face in a stupid expression.

“I don’t understand Targaryens,” he said flatly. “They care more about that throne than they do about the realm.”

“You’re wrong,” Arya said, but even as she said it she knew she didn’t sound convincing. Aegon cared about the realm but nobody at the Wall knew that and with what they faced Arya knew they needed far more from the king than what they had.

“I’m not,” Gendry said angrily. “You know I’m not.”

Arya didn’t want to talk about Aegon with Gendry. She wanted him to be her friend again but he just began to look more stubborn.

“Stannis is here. _He_ is putting the realm first.”

Arya had no answer for that. _Aegon might come North if I ask him._ She couldn’t ask though. He might have sent the obsidian but he didn’t understand, not truly. Even when she spoke of the Watch he seemed to be indulging her, not truly believing. He sent men for the Watch as part of his duty and on account of her but Gendry was right.

_He isn’t here and he isn’t going to be here._

Gendry still glowered and Arya wanted to throw something at his stupid bull head.

“Stannis Baratheon is a kinslayer,” Brienne said, stepping up alongside Arya. “I mean to make him answer to it.”

Arya knew Brienne hated Stannis. She saw it in every mention of his name.

“He killed Renly,” Brienne said, her voice thick with grief. “It was a shadow with his face but I know it was him.”

Arya knew what it was to want to kill somebody who hurt a loved one. She put her hand on Brienne’s arm.

“They won’t care about that here,” Gendry said stubbornly.

“Stannis hasn’t taken the black,” Arya said but she knew what he meant. _They won’t believe he did it._ Arya believed Brienne because Arya knew about magic but most other people at the Wall didn’t, even with dead men walking and the Others out there.

Gendry’s expression softened.

“The Wall needs more fighters,” he said. “It’s good you’re both here.”

Her annoyance faded and she saw that Brienne looked pleased too. _Gendry doesn’t care if I am a girl._ She felt grateful to him for not saying what the others did, that she shouldn’t be there. He used to be her ally, he used to value her ability. It seemed that had not changed.

“Thank you for making the sword for Rickon,” she said. “It is a good sword.”

Gendry smiled.

“Your brother is going to be fearsome,” he said. “Rather like you.”

Arya hid how pleased she was. She looked over the stack of armour on his work benches.

“You have a lot to do. I should let you be.”

He nodded and picked up the tongs again and Arya left him, studying Brienne as they walked from the forge. _I don’t want her to be hurt in looking for vengeance._ Arya knew well enough that it did not bring happiness, even when it was necessary to bring justice.

*

Shapes moved in the darkness. Arya could feel it, even if she couldn’t see it. The cold felt more intense from on top of the Wall and the snow began to fall heavily. Jon stood with her, looking out into the trees.

“I’m not the only person who needs you Arya,” he said quietly.

Arya moved closer to him.

“You need me the most,” she told him.

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. They both wore gloves but the gesture still comforted her. They stood quietly for a little while.

“There is unrest amongst our bannermen,” she confessed. “They want Rickon as King and there is arguing about who should be castellan. They don’t like Sansa being wed to a Lannister.”

Jon sighed.

“Tyrion Lannister spent time here. He gave me good counsel and called me his friend.”

Arya heard the winch working and listened, trying to determine who was coming. Jon’s defence of Tyrion made her curious. _Sansa doesn’t defend him._ She never wanted him dead though, that much was clear and if Jon liked Tyrion and Sansa would not speak ill of him then maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Bran is our king,” she said instead. “When he returns they’ll all see. None of this will matter and me not being at Winterfell right now won’t matter.”

 _Bran will return,_ she thought determinedly. _He has to._

Jon didn’t answer her and she knew he didn’t agree. _I’m not leaving you yet,_ she vowed. Jon wanted her to go because he worried. He worried about her and Rickon and Sansa but he _needed_ her and Arya didn’t want to leave him.

The cage creaked and Arya felt Melisandre before she saw her. The priestess made her unsettled ever since she spoke of her fears and of Jon. _She thinks Jon is Azor Ahai._ Arya knew Jon would do everything he could in battle, that he would be a hero. Part of it made sense. Jon was already a hero to her but he didn’t have the sword and Melisandre wasn’t always right.

_She keeps saying I have to make choices._

_She says I’m going to have to leave._

Jon’s face became very still as the priestess approached and Arya noticed how tired he looked.

“Did you tell her of your dreams Lord Snow,” Melisandre asked.

Jon’s expression tightened and Arya knew he wasn’t happy.

“What dreams?” she asked.

“They keep him awake,” The priestess said. “He sees what I see, that Winterfell will burn once more.”

Arya scowled at her.

“It won’t,” she argued. She turned to Jon. He looked pained and he didn’t deny it and she felt a stab of fear. “How?”

“They are only dreams,” Jon said quietly but she could hear his doubt.

Arya remembered Aegon telling her of dreams and pressed him. “What do you dream about?”

Melisandre answered instead.

“Dragons. Fire and death. Winterfell must not fall. It will be needed in the war for the dawn.”

Jon looked uncomfortable.

“The dreams are not clear,” he said.

“The flames do not lie,” Melisandre insisted.

Arya didn’t want to believe her. _She has been wrong before._ The Blackfish sent her ravens. He would have told her if there were any threat to the North.

“The dragons won’t burn Winterfell,” she argued. “They won’t.”

_Aegon would not let that happen._

“The dreams might not mean anything,” Jon said.

Arya studied his face. He was lying to her. She spun to face Melisandre.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Leave it be priestess,” Jon said sharply, a command. “It is not certain.”

Melisandre’s face might be a lie, a glamour, but Arya could still see the truth underneath. _They both think that Winterfell will burn._ Arya had her own way to find out the rest.

“If you won’t tell me I’ll ask somebody who will,” she declared.

*

She found Thoros by his night fires, just as she knew she would. He didn’t seem surprised to see her. He had mulled wine with him and she could smell that he had drunk more than he should, especially given there wasn’t much wine at the Wall and it was meant to be given out sparingly. She gave him a look but he just laughed.

“Some call it payment,” he told her. “I see things more clearly here. The magic is strong. They all want to know what I see until I tell them.”

His smile disappeared. Arya looked into his flames wondering how it worked. She didn’t know any prayers for R’hllor and she wasn’t sure he’d listen anyway. He wasn’t her god.

“Melisandre says Winterfell is going to burn.”

Thoros didn’t look at her.

“Aye,” he said. “You’ll be going south again.”

She wanted to be angry with him for telling her before she said it herself but it was Winterfell, her home, and Rickon and Sansa were there and she couldn’t save her father and she couldn’t save her mother but she had to try to save them.

“I need Jon to come too,” she told him.

“You don’t want that,” Thoros said. “He’s needed here.”

They all knew things they weren’t telling her. _I’m not a little girl any more,_ she thought angrily.

“Is something going to happen to him?” she asked.

“You mean more than what happened last time he tried to leave?” Thoros asked gently.

_That isn’t fair._

It wasn’t Arya in Winterfell then. _I can’t ask him to come._ What Thoros said stung but it wasn’t entirely wrong. _Jon is needed here._ Arya wanted to stay, to help him but not if it came at the cost of Sansa and Rickon.

“Aegon wouldn’t let the dragons burn Winterfell,” she said, hoping to provoke an explanation.

Thoros looked at her knowingly.

“There are three dragons in Westeros,” he said. “Even if you are right he’s only one man.”

She wished her uncle had told her more. She didn’t even know if Aegon rode a dragon or whether it was Daenerys they saw in the flames burning Winterfell. _He can’t have married her._ She hated herself for feeling pleased that he hadn’t, even as she felt scared by what it all meant.

“I have to go south,” she said.

_I have to try to stop it happening._

Thoros nodded.

“I’ll ready myself to travel again.”

Arya wanted to hug him for that at least. She might not want to leave but at least she wouldn’t be alone in facing what was to come.

*

The other men were a little too eager to follow Arya in returning south. The Skagosi wanted to stay and Arya wanted to leave Jon with as many men as possible but the rest wanted to go with her, especially because they did not seem to care that they might be facing dragons.

_Mayhaps they don’t really believe it._

Melisandre believed it. The priestess appeared at her door as she began to pack and Arya could see the relief in her face.

“I’m going to come back here,” Arya told her. “I’m not going to stay away.”

Melisandre smiled, an indulgent smile that made Arya angry even if she hid it.

“Do not discourage those who wish to follow you, Arya Stark.”

Arya shook her head.

“If I have to go I want to leave men with Jon. I need him to be safe.” She chewed her lip. “Jon shouldn’t be dreaming about dragons. He never did before.”

The priestess touched the ruby at her throat. It pulsed and for a heartbeat Arya saw through the glamour, saw the old woman with the slave tattoo again.

“He was reborn,” Melisandre said. “It is one of many changes in him.”

_He’s still my brother._

“He’s a wolf,” she said stubbornly. “He doesn’t want those dreams.”

“He is an instrument of R’hllor,” the priestess replied. “The dreams might confuse him but they are messages from the lord of light, just like the visions R’hllor grants me.”

Arya still worried.

“It will take me a moon to reach Winterfell.”

“You fear being late.” The priestess walked across the room to look into the fire burning in the hearth. Arya stayed where she was, waiting. “The vision is certain, the timing is not. It may be that you are late but I think not. The Lord of Light brought you here for a purpose, and he gave you your gifts for a purpose.”

 _My gifts._ Arya wondered how much Melisandre knew.

“The Wall needs to be defended,” she said.

The priestess smiled again, a sad smile this time.

 “Take the men,” she said again. “They will be needed. Lord Snow will not be harmed.”

Arya studied her, the robes, the way Melisandre’s hands moved. Everything she did had purpose. _She knows magic._

“You’ll protect him?”

“He is the champion of the Lord of Light.”

It wasn’t a good enough answer. Arya didn’t move, she didn’t look away until the priestess nodded slowly.

“He has my protection,” she said.

Arya could see the truth on her face, the determination and as much as she did not like Melisandre’s presence near Jon, she would take some consolation in the priestess’ power if it might keep Jon safe.

*****

Brienne came not long after Melisandre left to help her pack everything to leave. Arya noted the Maid of Tarth wasn’t packing her own things.

“Aren’t you coming?”

Arya knew the answer before Brienne said anything.

“Your lady mother swore she would not stand in my way when I faced Stannis Baratheon,” Brienne replied. “I mean to find him after you leave.”

Arya knew she could not argue against it, even if her friend’s wish for vengeance stirred memories for Arya. Brienne seemed so young, even if she was older than Arya. Sometimes she still sounded like a girl with her ideas of people and Arya never wanted her to lose that. She never wanted Brienne to have to feel the way Arya did, that hopeless feeling that even after justice, nothing changed.

_Renly will still be dead, even if she does kill Stannis._

She hugged Brienne, ignoring the older woman’s startled expression. Arya knew she cared. What Brienne had done for her and Rickon and Sansa was beyond duty.

“You will be welcome to return to Winterfell after.”

Brienne blinked at her uncertainly.

“I do not think anybody will allow it, your grace.”

 _I know you,_ Arya thought. Brienne was stubborn and noble and honest and most of all just and Arya hoped she would find more peace in her quest than Arya had in hers. She turned to one of the chests and took out a sword, unwrapping it.

“I mean to have the other reworked to match this if I get the chance,” she said. “I will leave this with you until we meet again.”

Brienne looked at her with wide eyes.

“Oathkeeper,” she said in a hushed voice.

“You kept your oaths,” Arya said. “This will be needed at the Wall.”

Brienne nodded and took the sword, blinking away tears. Arya returned to packing up the last things and giving orders until Jon joined her. She could see by his face that something had happened. He had a cloak tucked under his arm, it was black and torn and stained with blood and he held a horn in his hands.

“I meant to go with you,” he said.

Arya shook her head, about to tell him he couldn’t when she saw the way his hands trembled.

“What is it Jon?”

Jon turned the horn, showing something scratched into it. The letters spelled out _Winter is Coming_.

“Uncle Benjen,” he said. “The men found this and the cloak just beyond the Wall. It wasn’t there before.”

“It might be a trap,” Arya said.

Jon nodded.

“Tormund has sent word to the free folk still beyond the wall.”

Arya hugged him tightly, wanting to stay for this, for her uncle, but knowing she had been too late for her mother and she couldn’t be too late again.

“Be careful.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’d say the same to you but I don’t think you’ll listen.”

He followed her out to the yard as they finished loading up the wagons. Arya heard Nymeria howl and even though Ghost didn’t answer she knew he must be sorry to see her go. _They’ll miss one another as much as Jon and I will._ Nymeria had the other wolves and they would follow her anywhere but it wasn’t the same as family.

_Nothing is the same without Jon._

She hugged him again in the yard, a long hug before she reluctantly let go and got onto her horse. Arya vowed as she began to ride away that she would see him again. _If Melisandre is right about him he won’t die while I’m gone._ Arya prayed that the priestess had not made a mistake, not this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to take me longer. I have work related writing chewing up a lot of my spare time so that will delay things. I have started writing the next one though so don’t think I’ve stopped writing :)


	113. Chapter 113: Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was beastly to write (aside from the real life complications delaying me) but it's long so hopefully that will compensate for the wait...

**Sansa**

Sansa stood in the yard as yet another wagon arrived. _Every wagon puts us further into Lord Wyman’s debt_. The Lord of White Harbour did not speak of it. He did not have to. Everybody in the castle knew where the food came from. They had the glass gardens, and those would feed Winterfell in time but again. That was another of Lord Wyman’s gifts.

Rickon fidgeted impatiently beside her.

“When can I go to the godswood?”

She repressed a sigh. It had taken some convincing to urge him to greet the visitors. He wasn’t nearly as difficult as her cousin Robert but he did have his moments. Sansa pushed the memory of Robert Arryn away, feeling suffocated by guilt. She looked at her little brother instead.

“Soon,” she promised. “You can leave when the last man has presented himself in the Great Hall.”

Rickon frowned at that.

“I don’t want them here,” he whispered. “Arya won’t come back if they are here.”

She could see that Arya’s absence hurt him. He did not like being left behind. He had cried when Arya rode away. Arya hid her tears but Rickon had not learned that lesson yet. _He and Arya grew so close._ He even looked like her just then. Rickon had their father’s long face but his wilfulness made her think him rather more like Arya.

“Arya will come back,” she assured him.

They walked together to the hall and Rickon took the high seat, even if he did so reluctantly. Sansa sat by his side, allowing Lord Wyman the honour of sitting at the dais, albeit on the other side of Alysane Mormont, one seat farther away from Rickon. Lord Manderly smiled jovially while others in the hall frowned.

_They all want something, and not all of them want the same thing._

Lord Wyman earned his place of honour but Sansa knew he wanted to be castellan. He did not have a flattering reputation amongst the Northmen. Many thought him an old fool, not long for this world. Sansa studied him, the way his polite manner and booming laugh disguised ambition and a quick mind.

_If we give him what he wants he will only want more._

 Alysane’s mother ailed and she needed to leave and when she did Sansa and Rickon would not be able to refuse Lord Wyman. They had no good enough reason to refuse him, only a feeling that those whose support for Arya and Rickon was not as certain would chafe at Lord Manderly’s rise to power. It wasn’t anything new to her. The bannermen in the Vale all had rivalries. They all wanted something too and King’s Landing was the same only she did not realise it then.

_Petyr would find a way to remove him and put someone more agreeable in his place._

The thought came to her unbidden and with it came the memories of what Sandor told her, the ugly truth he would not let her forget. Sandor remained close to her, a shield she did not ask for. _He said he would keep me safe._ She didn’t feel safe, not while Littlefinger was out there. Petyr pretended to be her father but he never was and he killed her true father, the man who gave his life to keep her safe. Her father was an honest man, a man who spoke the truth in all but one case and it hurt so much now that she understood why.

_He confessed to treason for me._

She knew it in her heart of hearts, knew that Ned Stark did not betray the king but that did not make it any easier to hear when Sandor caught her lying to herself once more. She did not know she did it until Sandor growled at her in that raspy voice, seeming closer to true anger than he’d been in all the time since they met again on the road to Winterfell.

“Do you need me to tell it again?”

She shook her head because it only took a look at his face to remember what he said. Sansa might begin to remember it differently, to have her thoughts hurt a little less but she never forgot the important part, even before he reminded her. _I will never forget that Petyr is a monster._ Sansa wept in her chambers more than once, shut away from everybody until duty called her and then she would prepare herself, making certain that nobody could tell because her father would want her to be strong, like her mother, and Sansa was a Stark of Winterfell.

“Dogs and wolves,” he rasped. “They smell liars and there’s plenty of wolves in this place. Are you still just a pretty talking bird?”

He used to scare her when he spoke to her this way. This time Sansa bristled at it.

“I am the blood of Lord Eddard Stark.”

She thought she hid her annoyance but it must have been plain on her face because Sandor looked at her knowingly.

“Aye,” he said. “That you are.”

He did not make it sound like a good thing.

 _My father was a good man,_ she told herself.

Sansa knew she could have Sandor banished from Winterfell but she didn’t. He didn’t try to kiss her again the way he had on the night of the battle. He behaved as though it didn’t happen. He seemed to only want to protect her, in a way that nobody else in Winterfell did, nobody but Ned Dayne. The men in Winterfell were courteous and loyal to the Starks but they did not see _Sansa_. They did not know her. They saw her beauty and thought her frail, delicate, somebody to shelter but not to truly respect. Her marriage tainted her and Sansa wanted to shriek at them because she never wanted to wed Tyrion and it wasn’t fair that they judge her for it.

_I’ll show them all. I’ll show them I can be as strong as my lady mother and as much a Stark as any of my family._

The men looked to Arya and to Rickon and even to Bran in the godswood because they knew them and they feared them, even if they did not know that the whispering voice from the heart tree belonged to the rightful lord of Winterfell.

_Bran should have the crown. It should not be Arya or RIckon._

It was plain to see that Ned Dayne felt out of place in Winterfell. He did not know many northmen save her, and the northmen were wary of him for leading a band of outlaws. He remained an honoured guest in Winterfell, and a true friend, and he accompanied her often. His company gave her courage, just as it had on the road to Moat Cailin. Both he and Sandor did not belong in Winterfell but they both stayed, and one or the other always seemed near. On that day it was Ned who accompanied her, sitting at a nearby bench while they held council in the Hall.

The Hall seemed to have many petitioners, even with many men accompanying Arya to the North. They asked after provisions for winter and spoke of the number dwelling in the Winter town.  They reported men raiding villages even down near the Neck, thieves and worse. Some left filled with hope and gratitude but others wore bleak expressions. A representative of the Umbers spoke toward the end.

“I bring your grace disturbing reports of wildling invaders south of the New Gift. They menace the lands in ever greater numbers. It seems that they have taken over Karhold and will soon threaten the Dreadfort.”

Sansa did not speak when Petyr held his meetings. She greeted those attending and made certain they did not lack for food and wine while she watched and listened. The Northern councils differed, both in the way petitioners made requests and the matters they brought to their lord. They were hard men and their courtesies were not polished. Once they might have frightened Sansa. They still gave her pause but she watched and listened, saw how Arya spoke with them and how Alysane Mormont treated with them and realised they were just men, harsher men than many in the south but still men with their own wants. For now, Sansa stayed quiet, watching and learning.  It didn’t matter how they saw her silence now—they’d see soon enough.

Rickon looked to her and Sansa inclined her head, a small gesture, before looking out at the faces in the hall.

“The wildlings who trespass without leave must face justice,” Rickon said, uttering the words they practised only the night before. “They have to obey the law just as we all do.”

If Alysane Mormont was surprised at Rickon speaking she did not show it. Some in the Hall murmured in approval and for that Sansa felt some pride. Rickon had argued with her about the wildlings, calling them Arya and Jon’s friends. His wildling woman companion argued too, to Sansa’s annoyance.

“They may be friends to Arya and Jon,” she had said softly, thinking of the Vale clansmen who showed _her_ kindness not so long ago. The lords of the Vale spoke of the clansmen in much the same way the Northerners spoke of wildlings. “Our bannermen will never think them to be friends.”

“Your bannermen are fighting the wrong foe,” Osha said bluntly. “Your sister knew that. All your other kin know that too.”

It had hurt. Sansa knew people whispered. They thought her more southron than Rickon and Jon and Arya. She might have been slow to believe but that did not make her less of a Stark. It was her hesitance, her experience with others who would take much more to convince, who might _never_ believe that told her the course they must take now. Sacrifices must be made. She tried not to think of Shagga and the way he looked at her the last time she saw him.

_He did not come to harm. His imprisonment was not my doing._

“What will be worse?” she asked them. “Wildlings roaming free and the Northern lords fighting one another or our bannermen beheading wildlings on their land and heeding our call when they are needed?”

Rickon had said nothing to that but Osha nodded. _We cannot have our bannermen warring against one another._ They had other pressing concerns, especially in winter. Sansa did understand Rickon’s protests, but if she was to truly be helpful, she must be helpful with what she knew to be true. The wildlings were not her friends and it made matters clearer for her.

“Tell them to burn the dead,” Osha said bluntly.

Rickon didn’t tell them to burn the dead, even though Sansa knew he wanted to. _They will think him to be a fool if he does._ They must be seen to give a little, to bestow some justice, even if they thought it not to be a matter of importance. Rickon listened but he countered her instruction with Arya’s teachings.

_Arya says that justice is for the weak, the smallfolk and those who can’t protect themselves. Arya says that our bannermen swore oaths. Arya says that we have to be strong and they will follow our strength._

Sansa did not disagree but matters were not as simple as Rickon wanted them to be. The last argument was the one she needed him to focus on. If they appeared strong, fewer would question their commands. Strength meant choosing their battles carefully and standing firm when the occasion called for it.

 “Your grace,” the Umber man said doggedly. “What of the Dreadfort and Karhold?”

_Somebody always presses a claim to the Dreadfort._

Sansa knew they hoped to find a sympathetic ear with Arya gone. Lady Walda did not have much support aside from Arya. Sansa saw Rickon glower at the Umber man and she reached under the table to squeeze his hand. The gesture had limited effect. She did not know where Shaggydog came from but the black beast advanced from the back of the hall, fangs bared and growling.

“Arya made her commands clear,” Alysane Mormont said, not unkindly and without paying any mind to the direwolf. “That is a matter for the castellan. A raven will be sent to Karhold to learn the truth of what Karstarks remain.”

Rickon shifted in his seat.

“To me,” he said sharply to the wolf. He blinked up at Sansa, his blue eyes unhappy and Sansa loosened her grip on his hand. The man from Last Hearth retreated, his behaviour respectful as he kept his eyes on the wolf. Lady Alysane turned to Rickon but she barely had to ask the question before Rickon uttered the words to bring the discussion to a close.

 “My lords, you have my leave.”

The hall emptied quickly. Those sitting on the dais lingered and Alysane Mormont smiled at Rickon.

“You did well. You hardly need me now.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Rickon stood and Sansa could see he was upset.

“I don’t want you to go. I could command you to stay.”

Sansa jumped to her feet, mindful that Lord Manderly remained in his seat hearing it all.

“Rickon is thankful to you my lady,” she said. “We are most fortunate to have had you serving Winterfell ably as Castellan.”

The older woman gave Sansa a gap toothed smile.

“We’re friends,” she said. “It has been an honour.”

“You’ll always be welcome here,” Sansa said.

Rickon looked between them and Sansa could see he understood by the way he glanced at Lord Wyman.

“You’ll be welcome back whenever you want, my lady,” he said in a serious voice.

Sansa and Rickon left the hall together, Shaggydog leading the way.

“The maester tells me you have ravens,” Sansa said gently.

Rickon paused a moment and Sansa could see he felt torn.

“Did Arya write?”

Sansa shook her head. “You received a raven from her two days past.”

That seemed to decide matters for Rickon.

“You read the letters Sansa,” he said. “The others are not for me, not really.”

He wasn’t wrong. Arya gave orders for the letters to be given to Rickon but they were for the Lord of Winterfell and while Rickon did try his best, Sansa knew he did not want to be lord or king and he wasn’t. Robb was meant to be king, her brave brother. After him the crown belonged to Bran. Sansa wished once again that Bran could be with them.

“I will read the letters,” Sansa decided. “As you wish.”

She watched Rickon hurry to the godswood before making her way to his chambers. Ned Dayne fell into step beside her.

“I fear that there will be difficulties soon, my lady.”

_He has heard the whispers too._

“There need not be, my lord.”

He opened the door for her, giving her a curious look. Sansa stepped through and toward the desk where the parchment sat waiting. Ned hesitated but remained in the room with her after the door closed.

“My brothers and my sister will not fight over the crown,” she told him. “Those who hope for it to be otherwise will be disappointed.”

He looked puzzled at that.

“Your brothers?”

 _He does not know about Bran._ Sansa wanted to tell him, to trust in just one friend.

“Arya never wanted a crown,” she said instead.

She did not mean it to sound so bitter. Her sister didn’t want a crown. That was Sansa, the stupid little girl who thought Joffrey was a prince from the songs. She knew better now. All she wanted now was to be safe, and loved and she still didn’t feel like she had either, not truly.

She sat at the desk and began to examine the seals on the parchment. There was one with a seal from the Night’s Watch but it was not in Arya’s hand. Another bore the seal of House Tully. Sansa opened it with trembling fingers. It greeted all of them, Arya, Rickon and Sansa herself. Sansa felt a rush of gratitude toward her mother’s uncle.

_I hope that you are all well. Riverrun is secure and Edmure has taken over the Lordship, as is his right. He sends his greetings and an invitation for all of you to visit in better times. I fear that now is not that time. It is the time for dragons and war, a war you may be drawn into though I hope to spare you. I have reason to believe we will prevail and will send word when I know more._

Sansa thought wistfully of her mother. Her mother spoke fondly of Riverrun. Sansa did not want to leave Winterfell but one day, mayhaps when winter passed, she thought she might like to see the place where her mother spent her youth. She would not speak of it to anybody now though, they already thought she lived too long in the south.

She set the letter aside and picked up the one from the Night’s Watch. _It must be from Jon._ Her fingers lingered over the seal but she did not break it. _Petyr would tell me to open it._ She hated that she still heard his voice in her head. _It is meant for Rickon._ Her little brother might have told her to read the letters but he would want to break the seal on this one. Sansa wanted to read what her half-brother wrote, to know that he was well but she could not take this from Rickon. She set the letter aside.

The last bore no recognisable seal, only a blob of red wax. The parchment was a little torn, making her think it rather lucky the bird made it to Winterfell. Rickon’s name was spelled out on the front in neat letters. She thought about waiting for her brother for this one too but he gave her clear instructions. She broke the seal.

_Dearest Arya,_

_Haldon counselled me not to write you, and I have heeded that counsel until now. I might have entrusted this message to your uncle but it would raise questions I cannot answer. I have been visited by one of your Braavosi friends. I fear that he may wish to visit you and thought I should prepare you. He may not bring good tidings._

_I also received news of your betrothal. I cannot bring myself to wish you well in your marriage. That may be unfair of me but I do not care to be fair when if the world were otherwise I would be in Lord Manderly’s place. I do hope that your sister cherishes your company after your joy at locating her and your haste in rushing to her side. Lord Tyrion seldom speaks of her. I thought he might send for her but perhaps he is waiting until matters are settled here. I would not be so patient but that will not surprise you. You always knew me well._

_Aegon_

Sansa felt wicked for reading the letter. It was so improper it made her blush. _It was not meant for Rickon either._ It should have been addressed to Arya. _Aegon must think Arya reads our brother’s letters._ Rickon would have been angered by it, she knew. She did not like to think of his reaction had he read it. He blamed Aegon for Arya’s betrothal and he glowered when he spoke of the king. If Rickon had read it he might have spoken of it. _Better I read it than he did._ She looked up and saw Ned watching her curiously and quickly crumpled the parchment. _Aegon is foolish to send this._ Sansa could not help but feel envy that the king risked so much for her sister. The envy mixed with guilt at the mention of Tyrion.

_My husband._

She needed to burn the letter. People in Winterfell already whispered about Aegon and Arya. If anybody read it they would learn the truth. _Arya might hate me for burning it._ There was already a barrier between them _._ They already fought about secrets and lies and if somebody burned a letter like this meant for Sansa she did not think she would ever forgive them.

_Nobody will ever write me a letter like this._

She tucked it away in her gown.

*

Rickon returned from the godswood appearing rather dejected. His face brightened a little when Sansa told him of the letter from Jon. He showed it to her after, pointing at the mention of Arya. _Jon wishes for her to return to Winterfell._ Sansa wondered if the letter she kept tucked away would help Arya’s decision.

_If she returns she will still be betrothed to Lord Wyman._

Everywhere she turned she thought of it. Podrick Payne accompanied her when she took a walk after dinner. He served as a shield. Nobody paid a ransom for Podrick at Moat Cailin but the northmen freed him nonetheless. She expected Ned might have had a hand in it, the two of them seemed friends now. Podrick’s service was unwise, a visible reminder to all of her tie to Tyrion but he was so determined and Lady Brienne spoke on his behalf, making it difficult to refuse.

Having Podrick near made her think of her marriage and even when Ned joined them she could not keep it off her mind. _I did not want to wed Tyrion._ Her husband treated her kindly. Even now he did not disturb her, even though he had a right. They passed men in White Harbour livery, and Sansa though of Lord Wyman once more. The trees almost seemed to whisper to her and they were not near the godswood. They whispered Arya’s name and Sansa’s companions did not seem to notice.

 _Lord Wyman is not unkind_ , she told herself. _Arya might grow to care for him._ She thought of her sister and this time she did not need Sandor to tell her she was lying to herself. Arya might have changed, she might be accomplished and better at her courtesies but her sister was still wilful. _She will not risk Winterfell._ Sansa knew that to be true.

 _She agreed to the betrothal for Winterfell. She agreed to the betrothal for us._ Sansa had read the letter again, alone in her chambers. Her sister did not smile as much as she used to, but Sansa knew the king must be telling the truth in his letter. _Arya showed happiness at finding me._ Her sister shared more of her thoughts with the king than she did with Sansa. Sansa wanted to give her the letter, to see if Arya would tell her more upon reading it. _I want her to be here with us._ They were both on the same side in matters now, even if they did still disagree and Sansa knew her sister cared, more than Sansa ever thought she did before.

The breeze through the leaves seemed to whisper again and Sansa shivered a little even though she did not feel cold. It was as though the woods could sense her thoughts.

_Arya has to return._

She passed more White Harbour men, and these were exchanging harsh words with their companions. Ned moved to approach them and a quiet word from him seemed to settle tempers but Sansa did not miss the dark looks the men exchanged, nor the sigils the others bore, Ryswell and Cerwyn and Umber. Too many different houses. She remembered the words she shared with Rickon, of needing to stop their bannermen from warring amongst themselves.

_They will follow our strength._

Sansa feared they would not be strong enough, not without Arya and not without Bran. She feared that _she_ was not strong enough, despite all she had learned. It was about more than Arya and her betrothal, and Rickon and his Skagosi friends and Bran’s absence worsening the tensions and jostling to seize power. It was a need to protect Winterfell, to do what must be done for the North. It was a need to keep the Starks in power, not just in name but in complete command, with no interference.

_It is the game of thrones._

She remembered Bran’s words to her in the godswood. _We must all play our part._ She thought the game had no place when she came home, but to win the war she knew she must keep playing, no matter how much she hated it, no matter how much she did not want to think of Petyr’s lessons.

_I must play the part I have been given._

She only hoped she could do it well.

*

It was never difficult to find Lord Manderly. He smiled at her when she approached. He always had a smile for her and unlike Littlefinger’s smiles Lord Wyman’s eyes smiled too. Something about him reminded her of Lady Olenna though. _They both play the game, even if Lord Wyman does treat me kindly._ He moved to stand, with difficulty.

“There is no need. I mean to join you, my lord.”

“To what do I owe the honour, princess?”

Sansa gave him a bright smile and eased herself into the seat beside him.

“It should not be an honour, my lord,” she said. “You are to be my good-brother.”

He called to a serving girl, requesting wine. Two cups were poured and Sansa watched him drink. She did not touch her own cup and he frowned.

“Does the prospect displease you?”

Sansa shook her head.

“You have been good to us, my lord.” It was the truth and easy to say. “House Manderly has always been a good friend to House Stark.”

Her words pleased him, she could tell and Sansa kept smiling. She took a sip of the wine.

“Do you know the history between our houses?” he asked.

Sansa nodded. She made a point of knowing.

“House Stark will always offer shelter to you and yours when it is needed.”

He reached for a dagger and Sansa watched him cut a piece from a wedge of cheese. He did not eat it immediately, instead turning to her and almost seeming to look into her.

“You are more like your sister than you would have the others know,” he said mildly.

Sansa held her breath, wondering what he meant but he turned his focus to the cheese again. _He can see what I’m hiding, just as I see what he hides._

“My lord?”

He swallowed some of the cheese.

“I heard you with Rickon and the Lady Alysane. We need not pretend with one another.”

Sansa took a deep breath.

“I fear that Arya will be not as dutiful a wife as you hope.”

For a moment she thought Lord Wyman might choke, then she realised he was laughing. He did not laugh for very long and he spoke to her gently when he stopped.

“You fear I will not be the husband she would wish for.”

A denial sprang to her lips but Sansa did not utter the words. _He will know me to be false._

“I have heard the news of White Harbour, my lord,” she said instead.

Lord Wyman’s smile disappeared. He gave her a wary look.

“My son rules well in my stead,” he said. “White Harbour will give Winterfell no cause for concern.”

“Winterfell does not doubt White Harbour,” Sansa said softly. “We offer shelter, as we always have in times of need. The Winter Town offers refuge to the frail and the sick.”

She waited to see if Lord Manderly would understand, or whether she must speak plainly.

“It is no mere sickness,” he warned. “Wylis is burning the dead.”

_Osha will be pleased._

“A plague,” Sansa confirmed. “Your son, I pray for his speedy recovery, my lord.”

Lord Manderly paled, then his expression hardened.

“Wylis has not taken ill with plague, princess. I would learn who is spreading such vile reports.”

His change in manner startled Sansa, even if she had already suspected his usual laughter to be a mummer’s show. She did not know what to tell him. _He is not likely to be pleased that I gave one of his men a silver to learn these truths._ She did not hear them herself, she made certain not to be seen with the White Harbour men but it had seemed easy enough, too easy until now.

She blinked and thought of Petyr, of what he said of dealing with men like Lord Wyman and then she thought of her father, who ruled the North well without the need for such games. A tear slid down her cheek and Sansa looked down in her lap at her hands.

“I only meant to help, my lord,” she whispered. “I did not mean any offense. I only thought that with Lord Wylis abed, White Harbour might be in need. You have helped us so much, my lord. We would only wish to help you in return.”

She did not dare look at him again, not yet.

“Your granddaughters must be frightened, my lord.” she said. “It cannot be easy for them with tales of wildlings, and plague and their father being ill. My own lord father…”

She could not bring herself to speak of her father, not in this way. Lord Wyman sighed.

“Dry your tears, princess.”

He no longer sounded angry but there was still a hard edge to his voice. Sansa dabbed at her eyes.

“Forgive me, my lord.” she said.  “I am terribly lonely. I have not had ladies to cheer me with their company for such a long time.”

Lord Wyman remained quiet for a moment.

“What do you propose,” he asked.

Sansa sniffed and waited just a moment longer.

“Winterfell will be best served by your return to White Harbour, my lord. We would be glad to receive your granddaughters.” She looked up at him. He was studying her but Sansa could not read his expression. “They will be safe here, honoured guests and my cherished friends.”

“Honoured guests?”

It was not enough, Sansa could tell. _If you know what a man wants, you know how to move him._ She took another breath to calm the rapid beating of her heart.

“Arya does not want the crown,” she said is the barest whisper, hoping nobody listened but knowing she must speak regardless. “My brother will be king and my friends will be his friends.”

Lord Wyman leaned forward, just a little.

“Your brother.”

There was a gleam in his eye and the slightest smirk, an expression Sansa knew well. She had seen it on Littlefinger’s face often enough. It was the look of a man who knew something others did not. Sansa clasped her hands together, thinking quickly, trying to piece it together.

_He knew of Rickon being alive before the others. He intended to install Rickon as king._

“Bran,” she whispered.

Lord Wyman laughed, loudly. When he finished he did not smile at her.

“I was wrong,” he said. “You are rather less like Arya than it seemed.”

It felt like a slap.

“My lord?”

He moved, standing unsteadily.

“I will take my leave of Winterfell, princess,” he said amiably. “I trust that you will be a good friend to my Wylla when she arrives. She is a good girl, honest and loyal.”

He took her hand, kissed it and now he did smile but Sansa could still see the look in his eyes, the judgement.

 _He is leaving._ It was what Sansa wanted, but it did not feel right.

“We are grateful for all you have done for us,” she said quickly. “It will not be forgotten.”

She hurried to her chambers, away from Lord Wyman’s accusing stare. _I should feel triumph._ She felt anything but and when she closed the door safely behind herself and sat on the bed Sansa thought of Petyr and of her father. _I’m not like him._

She blinked but it did not stop the tears and Sansa curled up in her bed and wept.

*

“My lady, may I come in?”

Sansa recognised Ned’s voice. Lord Wyman made preparations to leave. Rickon was happy but Sansa still felt miserable. She thought it best to keep to her chambers. She hated the way Lord Wyman looked at her now. It would be better once he was gone.

_Ned has noticed my absence._

“Forgive me, I-I am unwell, my lord.”

She thought he might leave but instead she heard his boot scuff the floor and it sounded as though he might be leaning against the door.

“I will leave if you wish it.”

He sounded as though it was the very last thing he wanted. Sansa reached for a looking glass. Her eyes were a little red but it was not as bad as it might have been. She rose and opened the door. Ned paused a moment on the threshold.

“You may come in, my lord,” she offered.

He took the invitation. Sansa noted he had changed. His hair was neater and a little shorter and his beard had been trimmed. He wore newer clothes too, better fitted and not worn like his others.

“I did not see you at dinner. Your brother told me you are distressed.”

Sansa took a deep breath.

“You are kind to seek to comfort me, my lord.”

Ned looked startled and instead of sitting with her he backed away to stand just inside the door. _He is always mindful of his duty._   Normally Sansa told herself she did not care but it made her feel bitter now.

“They know you are a loyal friend, my lord,” she told him. “Nobody will think your presence to be improper.”

He hesitated but he finally came to sit by her side. She sniffled involuntarily and he produced a clean handkerchief. Sansa gratefully took it trying to ignore the tingle when her fingers brushed against his. She tried to be dainty and regain her composure. Ned was looking at her with concern.

_I need to give him a reason for my tears._

“I fear they think me too Southron after my absence.”

It was the truth, even if it was not the whole truth. Ned grinned one of his rare grins and her heart fluttered a little at the way the corners of his eyes crinkled and it made her feel warm inside.

“Imagine what they think of me then,” he japed. “You cannot find much more Southron than Dorne.”

Nobody thought of Ned like that but Sansa could not help a smile.

“This is true, my lord,” she agreed. “Do you ever think of going back?”

His expression clouded over and Sansa wished to recall her words. _That was a stupid thing to say._ All he ever spoke of was the Riverlands and Lord Beric. She wanted to beg his pardons and have him smile again but it was too late.

“I must return to the Inn, my lady,” he said softly. “Lady Alysane is making the arrangements.”

Sansa felt the despair grip her tightly. She saw his expression soften and knew she had not hidden it in time. She shook her head and he reached to take her hand. He only touched it briefly before pulling away.

“You have your family now, my lady,” he said. “You will be safe, even if people are not as kind as they should be.”

 _It is not my safety I am thinking of._ Ned was her one true friend but he was also more than that. He stood when she stood. Sansa did not think of Petyr’s lessons or of Harry or anybody else when she spoke.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please do not leave me Ned. I need you.”

She saw him swallow. His mouth opened to say something but he closed it quickly. His deep blue eyes showed his confusion. He looked away from her and fidgeted and his expression became miserable.

“I am not the best sword, Lady Sansa,” he said stiffly. “The castle has other protectors, better than me.”

Sansa clutched his handkerchief in her hands before discarding it.

“There is nobody better.”

She did not know when she had closed the gap between them but she felt his breath against her face. She touched him, just to push his hair back where it fell into his face and he froze.

“Sansa,” he whispered.

Her hands rested gently on his shoulders and he looked at her uncertainly. Sansa thought he cared for her, she had suspected it from that night by the fire when he spoke of seeing her at the Tourney all those years ago but now she knew. His nose brushed against hers lightly and Sansa initiated the kiss. She felt his hand at the small of her back but it was all different. Harry’s hands always wandered and Petyr kissed her as though he wished to possess her, and Sandor—it seemed as though Sandor had not kissed her at all. Ned did everything gently. He trembled in her arms and he kissed her tentatively at first and then so tenderly she almost felt faint.

He pulled away from her abruptly and Sansa felt adrift. Her heart hammered in her chest and she just wanted him to hold her again.

“Forgive me,” he said quickly. “I-I forgot myself.”

Her brief moment of happiness faded and tears stung her eyes.

 _He is still going to leave._ She knew it with certainty.

“There is nothing to forgive.”

He flushed and shook his head as he backed towards the door.

“You are married,” he said. “I do not wish to bring shame upon you.”

Sansa felt the familiar sting of guilt at the memory of Tyrion. _Must I be forever punished?_ Part of her wanted to shout at him, to tell him to leave her chambers. Almost any other man would stay with her, kiss her again, but not Ned. Petyr’s lessons would never work on Ned and Sansa never meant to attempt to use them with him.

_He is too much like father._

“My husband,” she said bitterly. She meant to say Tyrion did not want her and that he had others but it did not matter, not truly. Tyrion was her husband and while he lived Sansa could not kiss Ned Dayne, or love him, or have him love her.

“Will you write me, my lord?”

Ned hesitated by her door. He looked to be in agony.

“There are no ravens at the Inn, Sansa.”

He said her name so softly, wistfully. She could hear the regret in his voice.

_Does he regret kissing me? Or is it that he regrets that he cannot write me?_

“Mayhaps we will meet again,” Ned said. “When all is better.”

_It feels like it will never be better._

“I would like that,” she said quietly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm meant to be having vacation time in October so the next chapter will hopefully be finished in that time. It will be a Tyrion POV


	114. A message and a brief addition to the story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been an embarrassingly long time since I posted the last chapter. The hiatus was unplanned and was never meant to go on this long. I wildly underestimated the workload in academia, and the pressure to publish, and the amount of weekend work. I have a break from work at the end of the year, and will be in a different position for at least a few months next year so I will resume writing and am excited to get back to it.
> 
> In the meantime I have commissioned art for the story. You can see it here: http://madaboutasoiaf.tumblr.com/post/168127527874/i-commissoned-art-from-i-am-a-lady-damn-it-to-use
> 
> I didn't want to only post a message about the hiatus so I have also written something, a missing scene that fits within chapter 102. This was a suggestion from one of my followers on tumblr. I'll put it here for now and when I resume proper updates it will be moved to my drabbles collection.

Arya was still thinking of the council, of the things that were said. They wanted her to send Haldon away. She wouldn’t. He was her friend.

“Arya?”

Rickon looked worried. She made herself smile, a sad smile.

“Are we still going to see him?” he asked.

Arya didn’t have to ask who he meant. She nodded and took Rickon’s hand, holding it tightly as they passed through the castle. She told herself she did it for Rickon, to offer him comfort, but that was a lie. Rickon looked solemn but he was calm, much calmer than Arya.

_He was my friend._

She blamed the council for the pain, for stirring the memories, but she knew she would have remembered anyway. She saw Duck when she slept sometimes, and thought of him when she watched Rickon in the training yard.

“Are we going to stop for flowers?” Rickon asked.

Arya dearly wanted to bite her lip. She shook her head. It wasn’t far to the lichyard and she didn’t want to take any longer. Duck had waited long enough.

Rickon broke away from her when they drew closer, and Arya felt even more alone without him holding her hand. He bent before one of the headstones.

“The septon said words for him,” Rickon said. “I didn’t hear many. Shaggy kept howling.”

“He felt your grief,” Arya whispered.

Her little brother was usually so angry. Arya expected him to rage in the lichyard, to remember his fury at her. Instead he remained still and as Arya stepped closer she saw he had tears in his eyes. She hurried closer and bent beside him, putting her arm around him.

“Grieve for your friend,” she murmured.

The words made her think of her father, of Mycah. _My friends keep dying._ Arya blinked, her vision blurred with her own tears. Rickon sniffled.

“Do you think Duck liked it here?” he asked.

Arya’s throat tightened.

“I know he did,” she said thickly.

She touched the stone, it had his name on it. So many friends of House Stark were buried in this place. Duck never found a home in Westeros, he never had the chance but he laughed in Winterfell, and protected her, and made her smile. Duck helped her feel less lonely and for that he deserved to rest here. He deserved that and more.

_He deserved to live._

_Grieve for your friend_ , _but never blame yourself,_ her father had said. Arya didn’t blame herself, not for Duck. _Hate those who would truly do us harm._ Arya hated Cersei. She still prayed for her to die, and she hoped the old gods heard her prayer.


End file.
